#or close to a solo project

[getvalentined]

I forgot how much art I did for Chaos Theory. Trying to get it all organized for public posting is absolutely wild—every time I think I've got it all, someone mentions something and I remember oh yeah I did that too didn't I where did I save that?

The cover, one full page illustration, three pieces of promotional art, a logo, a wordmark, all the backgrounds and assets used (and left unused) throughout the project, and four—technically five—spot illustrations.

The spot illustrations are actually mostly full pieces that I drew, cropped to hell, and then added in with a bunch of other details; the most egregious example is that one of them features a grainy photo of Turk Vincent in The Tubes, spilling out of an overfull manila file folder along with a photo of Galian, a 3.5" floppy, notes and stacks of paper with paperclips and binder clips all over. When conceptualizing this, my neurodivergent ass was like "on top of hand-drawing all those other tiny elements to their most minute detail, I really should fully render Vincent in The Tubes if I want this to look right." I proceeded to do so, and then scaled that part of the image down to less than an inch on its longest axis for the final print. It is practically invisible. Why did I do that.

This is on top of doing all the graphics for social media accounts and the shop, stretch goals, announcements, and creating the actual print layout for the zine itself.

I'm literally sitting here like HEY ME FROM THE PAST ARE YOU LIKE…OKAY???

[yeonjune]

Yeonjun about the strain he felt while preparing for his debut solo project ✙ "GGUM" MAKING FILM

[lochallthedoors]

Liam Interview in The Guardian, 4 June 2017

[galakaz]

Oh they are adding md3 hard and

Oh No its back

Oh No

[idolpyre]

⠀⠀★ my love is a fire, i want to be your fire 불타올라 내게 불을 붙여주지 난 burn .

[dilfosaur]

well i haven't spilled my guts on tumblr since i was in college but it's the platform that's felt The Most Mine thru the years, so

let's talk!

i've had a huge chip on my shoulder that i wanted off before the year ends. very bad professional experience to follow

so firstly to get ahead of the speculating, i'm not naming names or anything. some of you will puzzle out who i'm talking about, but please don't bother anyone especially not on my behalf. i've worked hard to distance myself from them the past few months. shit happens, especially when you're a dumb bitch (that's me!)

but also this person was someone i considered a close friend and it makes me uneasy to possibly direct backlash at them. "then why post about it" bc i did intermittent work for them for over a year. this is just about that. so hear me out

basically it started off fine. i initially did some commission work for good pay, then was invited to become more involved with their team. unfortunately as i became more involved with their operation it became more disorganized over time. projects started then forgotten, constantly shifting schedules, lapsing communication between roles, confusing financials, and often inconsistent if not late payments. during mid 2023 i was doing colorist work, sometimes on a one day turnaround (all while also preparing drawfee's summer merch launch). the payroll wasn't set up correctly so i wasn't paid for that work for over a year (more on that later), tho to be fair that was largely my own fault at first as i just didnt realize the payments didn't go thru lol

i always consider myself decently capable of separating friendship and coworker-ship; i run a company with 4 wonderful friends, going strong for almost 5 years. that didn't really work out in this case. by early this year our friendship was on the rocks; work issues fed into personal issues and vice versa. so as the rest of this shit plays out, we had just had our first "big fight" which i felt very bad about and added to all the upcoming tension

a huge point of friction was the fact that i really wanted to work with them to make a music video for one of their songs. i've always wanted a chance to make a music video, was confident in a concept i came up with, and even did some concept art for the idea. everyone insisted they loved the concept and that we should do it, but we kept pushing it back for various reasons. it ended up becoming a huge sticking point for my frustrations, which i tried to express productively. TLDR, we eventually got around to discussing it seriously around april.

i planned to ask for $4000 with negotiable add-on for the whole project, which was my Friend Discount price. i was offered a contract for $1000 flat rate, as they insisted that was the only budget they had for it.

don't ask me why i signed it lol. i didn't even counter offer

there was some girlmath to it: i wanted an extra 1k for a student scholarship i provide every spring and well, there it was. but if i had to guess, i saw it as something i just couldn't back down from any more. i caused these folks- my friends- a lot of problems bc i dug my heels in so deep to chase this project, so fuck it we ball

i had about 4 months to solo a 3 minute music video. they wanted it done in august so they could release it before summer ended, bc "it was a summer song". to be fair i was asked if i needed them to pay for anything extra like assistants (which i would have to find and manage) but i was so immediately overwhelmed that i didn't wanna slow down to wait on that process lol. there was very minimal communication other than brief progress check-ins every few weeks. i did everything for that project myself: the original concept, character designs, storyboards, layouts, backgrounds. i even did the editing/compositing for the final cut of the MV. the only favor i did myself was limiting the amount of it that was actually animated to simple loops and motions. hardly my best work but it was work still done

i did it all in between my full time job. i ended up having to take nearly a month away from most of my drawfee duties (with the support of the others) to make the august deadline. i only ever asked for a 3 day extension (notice given about a week in advance, around the same time i was given the final song file lol). i finished the music video at 6am on the final deadline and recorded drawfee the next day on 2 hours of sleep

but it was done, coolies. the team was very happy with the final product. honestly, without getting into it, those were a very emotionally taxing 4 months. on the professional side, i regretted agreeing to the project and especially for the dogshit rate they offered. i felt like a hypocrite- as someone who always wanted to advocate for younger artists demanding their worth in a world that's getting increasingly hostile toward creatives, i failed myself

so when i met with the manager to discuss the release plan, i told them to do whatever worked best for them as i only had one request: i wanted my credit removed from the project

tbh... like... lmao this dramatic bitch right!! but really, i decided that bad practices only breed worse business. friends or not, it was unprofessional of me to accept such a low paying job so i just didn't want my name used in association. everything felt so muddled to me and i was just really tired at this point

the manager was very understanding and then offered that i could be paid more. they said that their team "was surprised" i accepted their low rate and they would be happy to up the amount. this confused me as the initial budget seemed pretty set and at no point between april and august was i offered a better rate. i knew these guys weren't made of money. so, i declined. i didn't want to put anyone out of their means over work that was already done and agreed upon. but more importantly, i was over the whole thing and didn't want to prolong the project with a contract renegotiation. i just insisted my name be removed

they decided to use a pseudonym (which i was fine with) so they could create a story about a character who made the MV (this sounds really convoluted but i don't know how better to put it without getting specific, sorry). that way if people asked about the credit, they could speak comfortably about it without signaling that something went wrong behind the scenes. ok, kind of a silly narrative imo but whatevs. and maybe this is where i finally went truly wrong but. yolo i guess

i gave the name "D. Smithee", D as in dilfosaur and Smithee as in Alan Smithee. look it up for fun film trivia ig! was it passive aggressive of me to reference that in this context? yeah, honestly. but i thought it was kinda funny and really not that deep. if it was a problem, i have other real, non-cheeky pseudonyms i regularly use. the manager accepted it and all i had to do was wait for them to post the video and i could leave the whole experience behind me

a week later i received a message from the manager that my pseudonym had been denied by the rest of the team bc one of them got the reference. fair enough lol. however, they decided that rather than ask for a different name, the were going to make one up for me that they liked and would "fit the [story]", without asking me

and that! is when i finally snapped!

i was so tired of giving them concessions at this point and having a credit made up for me without any input from me felt genuinely violating and unethical. i started to Panic bc of how stressed i was, and asked for my overdue payments (aka the $500 still owed on the MV, and the colorist rate from a year prior that was never paid even tho i reported it in january) to be scheduled ASAP as i was leaving the work discord immediately

i finally told them off for exploiting me throughout the months while i kept trying to just be nice and finish my contact cleanly. in return i was told that it was unfair to say that as i agreed to everything- i accepted their cheap rate and denied further payment so that was all settled, and it was ok to change my credit without my consent bc i "said they could do whatever with the release". i called bullshit, ended the convo as kindly as i could, and cried lol. they agreed to ditch the pseudonym and just give no credit. that night was the last i heard from anyone on that team

and the real kicker?

august came and went. then september, october... and they never released the music video

and i don't know why, because i was never contacted about it. i've been removed from the picture entirely i guess. 4 months and boatloads of stress. just. up in smoke. i don't know what i expected honestly

it's hard to not take everything that happened personally and as done in bad faith. i really do, honestly. i've had plenty of shitty deals in my almost 10 year art career, but it hits different from people you saw as friends. but to the point of "why not keep it private", i have never felt so disrespected as a professional as i did this past year. i can toy with money and credits and other formalities all i want, but my work- my ideas, my labor, my effort- is still so important to me. i felt like the biggest idiot for doing so much work, pouring so much of myself into a piece for someone's use, for what has amounted to nothing

but more importantly i hated myself for undervaluing my work, even if initially i thought this person was a trusted friend. money is not really an issue for me- drawfee is my main job and i am fine and comfortable. it's so important to pay artists appropriately but i often undersell my own work bc i value the collaboration and passion between creatives more than the reward. i think a lot of artists tend to feel the same, and it often makes us easy to take advantage of. it's so difficult to find the balance between passion and making a fair living, and i think there's some shame within ourselves when artists choose to prioritize that passion

i wanted to finally get all this off my chest bc i was ashamed of every choice i made. things like this happen all the time i'm sure and hiding these mistakes only make it easier for it to happen to other people

tldr always value your work and protect your passion from people who just see it as a product. and don't give cheeky pseudonyms i guess lol

(and again pls don't bother anyone involved about this. a lot of chaos has left my life as i moved past all this, and this is me closing a door without opening new ones hopefully lol)

this shit was truly

so ass.

but i'm moving past it now

but on a nicer note. outside of all of this nonsense, i made lots of good memories this year. i'm truly so grateful to the many wonderful people in my life who keep me going even when i fuck up big time!

and thank you to all of you strangers who, despite everything, give me the time of day. especially if you read this whole thing. you're a real one :')

happy new year!

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | two string bathing suit

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : your f1!boyfriend reacting to you showing him two strings as a bathing suit (tiktok trend - click for reference)

୨ৎ : genre : romance comedy ୨ৎ : tws : slightly suggestive ୨ৎ : word count : 2073

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : a rare wednesday post that isn't a solo story !! also i will be putting a pause on request bc my inbox is flooded, but once i have released a majority of the stories (within the next few weeks everyday there will be a new post in honor of 10k) they will open up again ty guys so much for the support <3

ʚ・max verstappen

“max,” you called from the bathroom, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “don’t freak out.”

he barely looked up from his phone. “that’s the worst way to start a sentence.”

you stepped out, deadpan. wearing… if you could even call it that… a “swimsuit” made of two threads, three knots, and maybe half a square inch of material. total. it looked like it was crocheted by a sleep-deprived spider. you posed with a straight face.

max blinked. then blinked again, slower.

“no,” he said, setting his phone down with almost religious care. “absolutely not.”

“what do you mean?” you said, fighting to keep a straight face. “it’s trendy. minimalist.”

“that’s not minimalist. that’s missing.”

you twirled, the strings shifting dangerously. “it’s high fashion.”

max stood up like he was about to perform an exorcism. “that’s not fashion. that’s barely science. you could sneeze and the whole thing would combust.”

“i think it’s cute.”

“i think it’s… illegal.”

you walked over slowly. he didn’t move, just looked absolutely offended by the garment clinging to your body with the hope and optimism of dental floss. “so… i can’t wear it on the yacht?”

he stared at you, stunned. “if you wear that on the yacht, i’m jumping into the ocean and letting nature take me.”

you burst out laughing, and he immediately buried his face in his hands. “who sold you that? who allowed this to exist?”

“i made it myself.”

his head snapped up in horror. “what.”

“yarn. patience. emotional damage.”

max grabbed the nearest towel and threw it around your shoulders like he was shielding your soul. “you need help. professional help.”

you leaned in, still grinning. “so that’s a no?”

he groaned. “i love you. but you’re grounded.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you stepped out slowly. wearing… well, calling it a swimsuit would be legally questionable. two strings of yarn tied together with the optimism of a third-grader’s friendship bracelet. honestly, it looked like you raided a kindergarten art bin and called it couture.

lewis lowered his sunglasses.

paused.

stared.

“be honest,” he said, slowly standing up. “did you lose a bet? or is this, like, a charity stunt i don’t know about?”

you fought to keep a straight face. “it’s my new swimsuit. do you like it?”

“do i like it?” he walked in a slow circle around you, studying it like a museum exhibit. “you look like someone gave a hamster a crochet hook and no supervision.”

“be serious.”

“oh, i am.” he waved a hand at the barely-there strings. “you’re out here dressed like a cursed macramé project.”

you pouted. “it’s artistic.”

“it’s traumatic.”

you posed dramatically. “but imagine this on the beach… champagne… sun setting…”

“yeah, and a full-blown scandal.” he crossed his arms. “you’re gonna flash everyone.”

you smirked. “so you’re saying it’s a little much?”

“i’m saying it’s one wardrobe malfunction away from me throwing my entire body over yours like a security guard.”

you grinned, stepping closer. “but you’d still let me wear it?”

he paused.

then? “yes. but only indoors. with the curtains closed. and a blanket.”

you laughed as he wrapped you up in the nearest hoodie and muttered, “i need a drink. and therapy. and maybe a glue gun.”

ʚ・george russell

you walked into the living room with the fakest innocent smile on your face and the largest box you could find on amazon. george was sitting on the couch, laptop open, looking like a ceo of something important.

“i got something for the trip,” you said sweetly.

he looked up. “that box is huge. did you order a tent?”

you beamed. “bikini.”

he blinked. “that’s not a bikini-sized box. that’s an appliance-sized box.”

you set it down and started dramatically peeling off the layers — tissue paper, unnecessary foam, even a fake ribbon — while george just watched in mild horror.

“is this an unboxing video?” he asked, deadpan. “should i film this for content? are we reviewing the manufacturer’s efficiency?”

you reached the final layer.

and pulled out the swimsuit.

or… the two lonely strings of yarn and a prayer that you were calling a swimsuit.

george stared.

and stared.

“…where’s the rest of it?” he finally asked, voice cracking ever so slightly.

“that’s it!”

he shut his laptop slowly. “that’s not it. that’s… that’s not a garment. that’s yarn.”

“it’s cute!”

“it’s nonexistent.”

you turned it around, holding it by the strings like it was a spider you weren’t sure was dead. “you don’t think it’s cute?”

he stood up like he needed to physically confront the reality of the situation. “how did you even find this? who sold it to you? did you blackmail someone? did it come with a warning label?”

“i packaged it myself.”

he blinked. “you what.”

“it’s a prank, babe.”

silence.

then, he slowly sank back onto the couch, covered his face, and mumbled, “you’re the reason i have stress dreams.”

you dropped the string bikini on his chest and smiled. “but you love me anyway.”

“i do,” he sighed. “i just… wish you loved fabric.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos was lying on the bed, one arm behind his head, scrolling his phone while you rifled through your suitcase.

“i got a new swimsuit for the trip,” you said casually, pulling out a folded towel to fake wrap the "swimsuit" in.

he hummed. “another one?”

you smirked. “this one’s special.”

he turned his head just in time to see you dramatically unwrap what could only be described as two strings of yarn connected by stubbornness and delusion.

carlos sat up.

paused.

blinked.

“…dios mío.”

you fought to keep a straight face. “it’s cute, right?”

he stood up slowly, like his body was moving while his brain was buffering. “that’s not a swimsuit. that’s—that’s a trap. you wear that, and i’m fighting everyone.”

you held it up by the strings. “it’s kind of artistic.”

“it’s kind of criminal.”

you twirled it once. “it’s technically wearable.”

“it’s technically two pieces of string and a death wish.”

you laughed, tossing it onto the bed. “so you’re saying you don’t want me wearing it at the hotel pool?”

“hotel pool?” he gave you an incredulous look. “you can’t even wear that in our apartment without risking emotional damage.”

“too much?”

“i’ve seen paper towels with more coverage.”

you walked over and looped your arms around his neck, grinning. “jealous?”

he rested his forehead against yours, sighing dramatically. “no. i’m concerned. for your safety. and my blood pressure.”

you leaned in close. “you’re just mad because you know i’d steal the show.”

he kissed your cheek. “i’m mad because i know i’d get arrested for public indecency by association.”

you laughed into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around you like a man who had just stared into the abyss.

“i’m hiding that,” he muttered. “i don’t even trust you to prank me with it again.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

“charles?” you called sweetly, stepping into the hotel room with a mischievous grin and a suspicious little shopping bag.

he glanced up from the bed, where he was sitting with his ipad and airpods, one brow raised. “yes, amour?”

“i got a swimsuit for this weekend. want to see it?”

he smiled, setting the ipad aside. “of course.”

you pulled it from the bag slowly, two strings. only strings. it might have once been a swimsuit, but now? it was a scandal waiting to happen.

charles stared.

then blinked once.

then smiled. slowly.

“mon dieu…” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “is that legal?”

“technically,” you shrugged, holding it up. “there’s a front. and a back. i kind of wish it was thinner.”

he tilted his head, eyes trailing the string in your hands with the fascination of a man watching his entire moral compass short-circuit. “and you plan to wear this in public…it's already thin enough?”

“maybe. why?”

he stood, crossing the room in three slow, measured steps. “because, chérie… if you wear that outside, i will never survive it.”

you smirked. “you hate it?”

he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “no,” he whispered. “i want you to wear it. but only where i can see you.”

you blinked.

“put it on,” he said, voice low, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. “let me see everything.”

you burst out laughing, hitting his chest lightly. “charles!”

he laughed too, pulling you in by the waist. “you’re evil,” he said against your neck, voice playful. “you come in here with two strings and expect me to be normal?”

“you seemed pretty into it.”

“i am,” he said shamelessly. “but mon amour… if you wear that out, i’ll have to start swinging. and i don’t want to go to jail in monaco.”

ʚ・lando norris

you stood in front of the mirror, struggling to keep a straight face as you unwrapped the tiny bag you’d stuffed the “swimsuit” into. two strings. one knot. less coverage than a shoelace.

“baaaabe,” you called sweetly. “i got a new swimsuit. wanna see?”

“yeah, sure!” lando shouted from the other room. “wait—should i come in there or—?”

you opened the door slowly, string bikini dangling from one finger like it was a precious artifact. “no need. just look.”

he turned.

froze.

squinted.

then: “what is that?!”

you fought a grin. “it’s my new bikini.”

“that’s not a bikini,” he said, already walking toward you like he needed to inspect it up close for safety reasons. “that’s—that’s a joke, right?”

you turned it around like a qvc host. “front and back. simple.”

he gaped at you. “it’s a crime scene.”

“very fashion-forward.”

“it’s barely forward! it’s not even forward-adjacent!”

you were shaking with laughter now as he waved his arms in genuine disbelief. “where did you even buy that? why did you buy that? how did they ship it? in a matchbox?!”

“i thought it’d be cute on the beach.”

he took the swimsuit carefully, like it might bite him, and held it up with two fingers. “there is more fabric in a tea bag.”

“i think you’re being dramatic.”

“i think you’re being dangerous.”

you stepped in close, resting your hands on his chest. “so you don’t want me to wear it?”

lando looked at you. then at the strings. then back at you.

“i want you to burn it.”

you grinned. “too late. i packed it.”

“i’m not letting you leave the hotel room.”

“promise?”

his jaw dropped. “you’re the worst.”

you winked. “and yet.”

he groaned into your shoulder, muttering, “i need therapy. and a one-piece. for you.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

you didn’t warn him.

you just walked into the hotel room, holding what looked like a piece of yarn with a dream. no dramatic intro, no buildup — just straight chaos.

“new swimsuit,” you said casually, tossing it onto the bed like it wasn’t about to destroy him.

oscar turned from his laptop, expression as flat and unreadable as always… until he saw it.

he stared.

blink.

longer stare.

“…that’s it?”

“that’s it.”

he sat back in the chair slowly, arms crossed. “that’s not a swimsuit.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you don’t like it?”

he took a very long pause. processing. buffering. internally screaming.

“i… don’t disapprove,” he said finally, choosing his words like they were part of a hostage negotiation. “but… i’m trying to understand where the rest of it went.”

you held it up by a single string. “it’s trendy. daring. very… cute.”

“it’s barely thread.”

you grinned. “so you do disapprove.”

he didn’t answer right away, just tilted his head, looking you up and down like he was trying to calculate structural integrity. “…if it makes you happy to wear that, then it’s fine.”

you squinted. “but you’re dying inside.”

he blinked. “a little.”

you walked closer, draping the swimsuit over his shoulder like a sash. “you don’t think i’d look hot?”

“that’s not the issue,” he said immediately, not even blinking. “the issue is physics.”

you burst out laughing, and that finally cracked a smile from him — soft, a little resigned, but full of affection.

“i trust you,” he added, voice quiet but firm. “i just… don’t trust gravity. or wind. or humanity.”

you kissed his cheek. “so private pool only?”

he nodded. “preferably with no windows.”

you leaned back, watching him eye the bikini like it was a cursed relic. “you’re kind of obsessed with me.”

he smiled again, this time without hesitation. “obviously.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[dollyichi]

A LITTLE MYSTERY NEVER HURT ANYBODY . . . pro-hero katuski bakugou x f ! actress reader. m—dni / fluff / hints of ‘tension’ and maybe suggestive… / established relationship / little smau at the end / not proofread / minors don’t read this !!

despite being a fairly new actress, you were able to catch the attention and hearts of the fans from your recent debut just two years ago. becoming a highly in-demand star, given every project possible just to be seen on the screen. however, you kept a secret. that one secret that could cause a frenzy, that the beloved actress of the nation is dating the one and only pro-hero dynamight.

they all assumed that they definitely knew the both of you are in a relationship… somehow. you had that certain glow and katsuki definitely made it sure that he’s not available. no matter how many fans tried to flirt, no matter how many interviews he’s gone through he says one thing very clear, “got a pretty girl already.” however, nobody knew it was with the two of you together.

countless articles are read about you, how you were overheard with a director from your upcoming series that you wanted to avoid any romantic scenes or a partner in general. which boosted more speculation on your ‘mysterious’ love life.

now, your manager says that she got you booked with a new project. you’ll be in a promotional shoot with a pro-hero for a fashion campaign with an upcoming designer. “that’s fine right? you’d be with someone in the shoot though.” your manager says. you shrug, looking over at the recent line the designer put out.

“it’s fine. no point in declining opportunities right?”

she nods enthusiastically, “that’s the spirit! we were actually surprised the team agreed immediately when they found out it was you. i heard they only accepted solo projects for him.”

you smile, “well whoever it’ll be i’m sure we’ll do great.”

the moment you step foot on the set, you were immediately greeted by the designer themselves. “y/n you’re so beautiful, you’re so perfect for us!”

“thank you for believing in me! please take care of me well.” you bow and was brought to your own dresser. quickly dressed in a silk robe and getting your makeup done. your hair was in curlers, the team taking their sweet time to make sure they enhanced your features for the shoot.

you hear a knock on your door, and you could hear your manager gasp when she opens it. peeking at the mirror with one eye, you see a familiar figure walking towards you, messing with the collar of his shirt.

“hey baby.” voice raspy and hoarse. now everyone in the room was shocked. looking at the two of you. to top it all off, katsuki places a quick kiss to your cheek and getting a stool to sit beside you.

your manager definitely felt like she was gonna faint. she had no idea what this was or when, or even how. everyone else was also in shock and confused, felt like time stopped somehow.

why is he now acting all lovey dovey in public? is what they all, including you, wondered.

“fuck baby you’re looking too pretty.” you giggle, trying to stay in place while the makeup artist adds their finishing touches. “thank you katsuki, no wonder you agreed to this shoot.” you say. the makeup artist finally says you’re done, you were all ready, just needed to change into the outfit.

katsuki was in a fitted velvet button up shirt with low-rise slacks. only the middle section of the shirt was buttoned, and for the first time in your career, your professionalism was definitely getting tested. just a little lower you could probably catch a glimpse of his happy trail. “who allowed you to wear that?” you motion with your head. but before he could answer you’re already turned around, moving behind the divider to dress up.

“aw come on, i know you fuckin’ like it.” he says loudly, then followed by the door closing. suddenly the staff was all on you after you stepped out. complimenting how you looked so good, how you’re going to be the new face of the brand after this. but most especially, the elephant in the room.

“i know everyone’s thinking you have a boyfriend but… dynamight?!”

“where, when, why, and how?”

“i never saw him speak that sweetly to anyone before….”

“i thought it was another celebrity! this is really unexpected.”

lots and lots of questions but they were immediately shut down by your manager who wanted to maximize the time. “we still got a shoot. y/n can tell us the details another time.” she gives you that look that reads ‘you better tell me everything’ and you give her an apologetic smile.

you take a look in the mirror, seeing how you matched with him. in a tight velvet dress that hugged your figure really well, probably a piece from the earlier collections. it’s pretty, the skirt is slanted with peaks of ruffled tulle.

you’re start walking to the set where katsuki was already waiting. “oh our princess! you look amazing.” the designer says, holding his hands to his chest. “i knew you and dynamight would look amazing together, i thank you both really.”

you grab their hands, “i’m really happy you paired me with him too!”

you approach katsuki with a smile, and he’s already grinning at you. “well shit this might be the hardest job i’ve taken yet.” he chuckles, placing a hand on your back to help you on the extravagant set.

you’re shining so bright and in your element that he’s just happy to be there. yet, the whole time he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you, how his hold on you lingered, wanting to touch you even more, even deeper. despite the director giving clear directions that you followed with no fuss, he on the other hand just has to have a hand on you. but it definitely gave an effect on each shot.

katsuki couldn’t help but keep his eyes on you, eyes glimmering with desire. and how you’re looking at him with such a cool glare—it just felt so out of character for the both of you. who’s usually so sweet and him who’s usually so out for reach. “think i need you in this dress when i take you home.” he would whisper. and you’ll playfully hit him on his arm.

when you prepare for the next shot he’d always tell you things that’d rile you up. and when nobody’s paying attention he’d be looking you up and down. “bet you’re even prettier under this fuckin’ dress.”

even in between clothing changes you both looked picture perfect. both complementing each other’s visuals. he’d sneak you out from time to time to get a smooch here and there, resulting in the makeup artists on the set to fix him up because his and your lipsticks would smudge, wondering why he gets messed up all of a sudden.

“you’re so damn pretty baby. too bad the makeup’s gonna get ruined when we get home.”

“stop teasin’ during work kats…”

the last shot had you both seated on the carpet. it was sexy, your hand’s on his bare chest and he’s leaning in towards you with a finger under you chin. the two of you together felt magnetic. it’s so interesting to everyone in that room how the hero who’s usually uncontrollable became so compliant because if you. overall, it just felt too romantic, that petals of roses were somehow seen falling down on the both of you while you posed.

what was most unexpected was how katsuki really enjoyed being in front of a camera, as long as it’s with you (might’ve gotten a few ‘creative’ ideas too). he’s definitely making one of these photos his wallpaper when they upload it.

and the next day, that one shot trended all over the internet. blasted all over the digital billboards in the city too. finally seeing the elegant y/n who seemed to have helped show a new side of the pro-hero to the public.

showering the brand with praises and how much of a ‘genius’ they were for even choosing the two of you as the muses. because it really was just a coincidence that the owner was a fan of you both.

then there goes the online articles, the video complications, the noise that just won’t die down. tweets and photos, even a sudden rise in fanpages. dynamight and y/n, and the public that’s trying to piece every evidences of your interactions. how they were all tricked that your relationship was just under their noses. how in events you’re always seen together, or how your car was spotted in his neighborhood that one time. or when katsuki always keeps saying in interviews that his favorite shows and media always had you in it—main lead or not. the way nobody caught it even when you mentioned that dynamight was one of your favorite heroes. even showing them a small plushie charm that you carried on you hanged on your bag—everyone was stunned.

still, neither of you confirmed anything, yet.

till the moment the official account of the brand posted all the shots of you together, and it was very obvious how the two of you were actually in love, like the head over heels type.

well, the both of you are gonna have more projects together soon for sure.

bonus!

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i really like this actress au i’m definitely gonna make more 😔🙏 different versions for sure

[kyunghwannie]

Love Production💫

TWICE's Chou Tzuyu x Male Reader

➤Word Count: Approximately 18.8K+

➤Tags: Deepthroat, Outercourse, Sensation Play, Choking, Breeding, Impact Play (Spanking), Face Off, Reverse Cowgirl, Prone bone, Missionary, Doggy Style, Rough Anal Penetration, Creampie, Carry fucking, Squirting, Facial

➤Description: Chou Tzuyu. The visual maknae of TWICE. Who Doesn't want to be with her? She is everything, gorgeous, cute, calm and composed. While You have been a valuable asset of JYPE due to your contributions to their big artists like Stray Kids, ITZY. But you primarily were TWICE's main producer. And now, Tzuyu was having her solo debut "abouTZU" which is being lead produced by you. And during the recording time and production of her title track, You and her surely didn't only produce a song for her but something else in your heart as well

The hum of the fluorescent lights in the JYPE office building echoed faintly in the otherwise still night. You were seated at your desk in the producer's lounge, surrounded by an organized chaos of sheet music, sound mixers, and a half-empty coffee mug. The clock read 11:47 PM, but time felt irrelevant in the world of music production, where creativity often struck when the rest of the world was asleep.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, a soft groan escaping your lips. Another long day, but you didn't mind. Producing music for TWICE was both a privilege and a challenge, and you relished every moment of it. The group's diverse talents kept you on your toes, and their latest project-a solo album for a special someone-was no exception.

Tzuyu.

You'd worked with her countless times before, but there was something different about this project. It wasn't just that it was her first solo venture; it was her attitude. Despite being the youngest member of TWICE, she carried herself with a quiet confidence that often left people in awe. And yet, there was a vulnerability about her-something she rarely let slip but couldn't entirely hide. A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts.

Y/N: "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Tzuyu stepped in, her figure framed by the warm glow of the hallway lights. She was dressed casually in an oversized hoodie and jeans, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Despite her simple attire, she radiated an effortless elegance that made you pause for a moment.

Tzuyu: "I hope I'm not interrupting."

You shook your head, gesturing for her to come in.

Y/N: "Not at all. I was just going over some tracks for tomorrow's session."

She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. Her gaze flickered to the cluttered desk, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Tzuyu: "You work too much."

Y/N: "Says the idol who spends half her life in dance practice and the other half recording."

She chuckled, the sound light and melodic, as she took a seat on the couch across from you.

Tzuyu: "Touché. But at least I get breaks. When was the last time you took one?"

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.

Y/N: "Breaks are overrated. Besides, someone has to make sure your album sounds perfect."

Her cheeks tinted a faint pink at your words, and she quickly looked away, pretending to study the guitar leaning against the wall.

Tzuyu: "No pressure, right?"

Y/N: "Pressure? Nah. If anything, it's exciting. You're ridiculously talented, Tzuyu. It's just about bringing that out in the music."

She glanced back at you, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to say something but decided against it. Instead, she settled for a quiet "thank you," her voice almost too soft to hear. The room fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came with familiarity. You'd known Tzuyu for years, ever since you joined JYPE as a producer. Back then, you were just a fresh face trying to prove yourself, and TWICE was already a global phenomenon. Despite the overwhelming star power, Tzuyu had always been approachable, though reserved. Over time, you'd built a rapport-a professional camaraderie that occasionally dipped into moments of genuine friendship. You admired her work ethic and her ability to stay grounded despite the chaos of fame.

Y/N: "So, what brings you here this late?"

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie.

Tzuyu: "I couldn't sleep. And I figured you'd be here."

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Y/N: "What gave it away? The never-ending coffee supply?"

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

Tzuyu: "That, and you're predictable."

Y/N: "Ouch. Should I be offended?"

Tzuyu: "No, it's... comforting, actually. Knowing you're always around."

Her words caught you off guard, but you quickly recovered, offering a lighthearted grin.

Y/N: "Well, someone has to keep you idols in check."

She rolled her eyes but didn't respond, her gaze drifting to the window. The city lights shimmered in the distance, casting a soft glow that reflected in her eyes. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Tzuyu: "Do you ever feel like... you're not enough?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. You straightened in your seat, studying her expression.

Y/N: "Is this about the album?"

She shook her head, her hands clasping tightly in her lap.

Tzuyu: "It's everything. Being in TWICE, living up to expectations, trying to prove that I'm more than just the youngest member or 'the visual.' Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it's not enough."

Her vulnerability took you by surprise. Tzuyu was always so composed, so poised. Seeing her like this-raw and uncertain-made your chest tighten. You leaned forward, resting your arms on your knees as you spoke.

Y/N: "Tzuyu, listen to me. You're more than enough. You're talented, hardworking, and you care about what you do. That's all that matters. And anyone who doesn't see that? They're not worth your time."

Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw them glisten with unshed tears.

Tzuyu: "Do you really think so?"

Y/N: "I know so. And if you ever need a reminder, just come find me. I'll set you straight."

A small smile broke through her solemn expression, and she nodded.

Tzuyu: "Thank you, Y/N."

Y/N: "Anytime."

The tension in the room eased, replaced by a newfound sense of connection. You weren't sure what had prompted her to open up, but you were glad she had. Tzuyu was strong, but even the strongest people needed someone to lean on sometimes.

She stood up, brushing imaginary dust off her hoodie.

Tzuyu: "I should probably let you get back to work."

You shook your head, gesturing to the empty chair across from you.

Y/N: "Stay. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

She hesitated for a moment before sitting back down, her posture more relaxed this time.

Tzuyu: "Alright. But only if you promise to take a break soon."

Y/N: "Deal."

The two of you exchanged smiles, the air between you lighter now. As the rain began to patter softly against the window, you couldn't help but feel like this was the start of something different-something more.

The clock on the studio wall ticked past midnight, its hands moving steadily into the early hours of the morning. The dimly lit room was filled with the soft hum of equipment and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. You sat behind the mixing console, adjusting levels and fine-tuning the track for Tzuyu's solo song, "Run Away." The lead single from her debut mini-album, abouTZU, it was a synth-pop track with nostalgic piano melodies and a bold synth bass that evoked a sound reminiscent of the late 2000s to mid-2010s. Tzuyu stood in the recording booth, her headphones snug over her ears, and a focused expression on her face. She had been practicing the song tirelessly, determined to deliver a performance that would captivate her audience and showcase her growth as an artist.

Y/N: "Alright, Tzuyu, let's take it from the top. Remember to channel the emotion we discussed earlier. Feel the lyrics and let them guide your voice."

She nodded, her eyes meeting yours through the glass window separating the booth from the control room. The instrumental intro began to play, the nostalgic piano melodies setting the tone. As the verse approached, Tzuyu took a deep breath and began to sing.

Tzuyu: "이건 내 warning 날 향한 네 yearning. 정말 확실한 건지 널 내게 turn in, 한 후엔 no turning back..."

Her voice was clear and melodic, but there was a hint of hesitation, a barrier preventing her from fully immersing herself in the song's emotion. You stopped the track and pressed the talkback button.

Y/N: "That was good, but I think you can dig deeper. This song is about yearning and the desire to escape. Try to connect with those feelings and let them come through in your performance."

Tzuyu bit her lip, nodding slowly. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching within herself for the emotions needed to convey the song's message.

Tzuyu: "Okay, I'll try again."

The track restarted, and this time, as she sang, there was a noticeable difference. Her voice carried a depth of emotion that resonated with the song's themes. You could feel the yearning in her tone, the desire to break free and run away from the constraints holding her back.

Tzuyu: "Run, run away. I'll give you a chance before it's too late. Once you're in my arms, You will beg, beg to stay..."

As the chorus approached, she poured her heart into the performance, her voice soaring with passion. You watched, captivated by the transformation. This was the Tzuyu you knew she could be-vulnerable, expressive, and utterly compelling. When the song ended, there was a moment of silence. Tzuyu looked up, her eyes searching for your reaction.

Y/N: "That was incredible, Tzuyu. You really brought the song to life."

A shy smile spread across her face, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Tzuyu: "Thank you. I felt more connected that time."

Y/N: "It definitely showed. Let's do a few more takes to capture that same energy, and I think we'll have it."

Over the next hour, Tzuyu delivered several more stellar performances, each one imbued with the same emotional depth. As the final notes of the last take faded, you leaned back in your chair, a sense of satisfaction washing over you.

Y/N: "I think we've got everything we need. Great job tonight."

Tzuyu stepped out of the booth, her face flushed with exertion but glowing with pride.

Tzuyu: smiles at you "I couldn't have done it without your guidance. Thank you for pushing me to dig deeper."

Y/N: "It's all you, Tzuyu. I just helped you find what was already there."

She looked down, a hint of bashfulness in her expression.

Tzuyu: "Still, I appreciate it."

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest at her gratitude.

Y/N: "Anytime. Now, how about we take a break? I think we've earned it."

She nodded, and the two of you settled into the studio's lounge area, the atmosphere relaxed and comfortable.

Tzuyu: "You know, this song means a lot to me. It's about wanting to escape, to find freedom. Sometimes, with all the pressures of being an idol, I feel that way."

Her admission was candid, and you felt honored that she trusted you enough to share her feelings.

Y/N: "I can understand that. It's important to have an outlet, a way to express those feelings. Music can be that escape."

She looked at you, her eyes reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude.

Tzuyu: "I'm glad I have someone like you to help me through it."

The connection between you deepened in that moment, a shared understanding passing silently between you.

Y/N: "And I'm glad to be here for you."

As the night wore on, the conversation flowed effortlessly, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing moment. In the quiet intimacy of the studio, amidst the shared passion for music, something new and beautiful began to blossom. The low hum of the studio was replaced with an eerie silence after Tzuyu finished the last take for her solo track. You turned away from the mixing desk, stretching your back as the weight of the late hour finally caught up to you. Your fingers ached from adjusting levels all night, but there was a sense of accomplishment, of creative fulfillment that came with a job well done. You glanced at the clock on the wall: 2:45 AM. Tzuyu stepped out of the recording booth, her light footsteps padding softly on the polished floor. She let out a yawn, her long hair slightly messy, her face flushed with a mixture of fatigue and satisfaction.

Tzuyu: "That was intense..."

She smiled, her eyes still soft with the lingering emotion of the song. You couldn't help but admire her, the way she could pour herself into her work, the quiet intensity in everything she did. She looked a little more vulnerable tonight-tired, but still glowing.

Y/N: "You did great, Tzuyu. I think we've got a perfect take. You really nailed the emotion in that last one."

Tzuyu tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her shoulders dropping in relief. She looked like she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders during the recording, but now, there was a sense of ease in her expression.

Tzuyu: "Thank you... I was nervous at first, but... after you gave me that feedback, I felt like I could really let go."

She walked over to the lounge area, a small corner of the studio with a couple of couches and a table covered in snack wrappers and empty cups of coffee. You followed her, taking a seat across from her.

Y/N: "I'm glad. Sometimes, it's just about finding that moment where you can really connect with the music. You were amazing tonight."

Tzuyu smiled, and for a moment, the tiredness in her eyes was replaced by something else-gratitude, maybe even a little bashfulness. She picked up a half-empty bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and took a sip. The sound of the water pouring into the bottle felt almost therapeutic.

Tzuyu: "You know, I was kind of nervous about doing this solo album. Being a part of TWICE is one thing, but this... it feels more personal, you know?"

Y/N: "I get that. Being solo means you're fully in control of your sound, your image. It's a lot more vulnerable, but I think it's also a chance for people to see a different side of you. You've got this, Tzuyu."

She nodded thoughtfully, looking down at her water bottle. There was a pause, a quiet moment between the two of you where neither of you spoke. It felt peaceful, like a mutual understanding had passed between you. Tzuyu wasn't just the idol you worked with; she was someone who had her own fears and dreams, someone who trusted you to guide her through this new step in her career.

She leaned back on the couch, her arms resting on the back as she looked up at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought.

Tzuyu: "I guess... I never really talked about how overwhelming all of this can be. The expectations, the pressure... sometimes it feels like I'm just supposed to be this perfect image."

Y/N: "But you're not just an image, Tzuyu. You're human. And that's what makes your music so special. It's your voice, your heart that comes through in everything you do."

She turned her gaze back to you, her eyes soft and appreciative. There was something about the way she looked at you, a quiet vulnerability that made your chest tighten.

Tzuyu: "Thanks, Y/N. You always know just what to say."

You could feel the weight of the moment, the quiet understanding that hung in the air between you two. It wasn't the kind of bond you usually shared with colleagues. It was different. Tzuyu was always kind, but tonight there was something more-something more open. It made you wonder how long this had been growing, this unspoken connection between the two of you.

Y/N: "Well, someone's got to keep you grounded."

You chuckled lightly, trying to ease the growing tension. Tzuyu laughed softly, the sound light and melodic, and for a second, everything felt lighter. She reached over and grabbed a packet of chips from the table, her fingers brushing against the edge of your hand as she did. It was subtle, but it didn't go unnoticed. You both pulled your hands away quickly, but the air seemed charged for a split second.

Tzuyu: "You're right. Sometimes I feel like I need someone to remind me to breathe."

You took a moment to reflect on her words. For all her success, for all the grace and poise she carried herself with onstage, Tzuyu was still someone who had to fight through self-doubt and the overwhelming weight of expectations. She was only human, after all.

Y/N: "Well, I'm happy to remind you to breathe. Just make sure you take care of yourself too, okay? Music can be all-consuming, but you need time to just... be yourself."

Tzuyu smiled, her eyes meeting yours again. There was a warmth in her gaze, something that went beyond professional appreciation.

Tzuyu: "You're right. I think I forget that sometimes."

She sat up, moving a little closer, as if the closeness between you both was starting to feel more comfortable. The studio, which had felt like a sterile work environment just hours ago, suddenly felt like a space where time could slow down.

Tzuyu: "Can we take a little longer break? I don't want this night to end just yet."

You nodded, suddenly aware of how late it was. The recording session had gone on for hours, and yet, there was still this unspoken desire to extend the time you shared together, to keep talking and to share moments in this little studio world you two had created.

Y/N: "Yeah, I'd like that too."

Tzuyu smiled, and this time, it wasn't just a polite smile. It was one of genuine affection, one that made you feel warm inside. She scooted over so she was sitting closer to you, her legs brushing against yours as she settled into a more comfortable position. There was a small, playful spark in her eyes now, something that hinted at her usual playful demeanor but softened by the quiet mood of the moment.

The world outside felt like it had slowed down, the rain creating a sense of peace that allowed everything else to fade into the background. It was just you and Tzuyu in this small corner of the studio, sharing a moment of quiet comfort in the middle of the night. As the rain continued to pour outside, the rhythmic patter on the windows grew almost hypnotic, like a gentle lullaby coaxing the world to rest. Inside the studio, the atmosphere was warm and calm, and you found yourself sinking further into the comfort of the moment with Tzuyu. Her presence beside you felt effortless, like this was where you were meant to be-two people in the quiet, simply enjoying each other's company. Tzuyu stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. She looked over at you, her expression soft, and for a moment, the exhaustion from the recording session seemed to vanish. It was replaced by something more relaxed, more human.

Tzuyu: "I think... I think this is the most relaxed I've felt in a while." She shot you a wide smile.

You turned your head to face her, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'm glad you're able to unwind. It's been a long night, and you deserve it." Her eyes met yours, and this time, there was something deeper in the way she looked at you. Her gaze lingered for a moment too long, but neither of you seemed to mind. It felt natural, comfortable, like it was a continuation of the quiet bond you had started building hours ago.

Tzuyu: "It's rare that I get time like this... just to sit and talk. I'm always running around or on stage, but moments like these, where I'm just... here, with someone who gets it, feel nice."

Her words hung in the air, and they felt heavier than anything you'd heard in a long time. Tzuyu wasn't just talking about the music industry or her work. She was talking about the moments in life when you could truly connect with someone, when you didn't have to hide behind a persona or the noise of the world around you. You were just two people, existing in the same space, sharing a quiet, honest moment. You leaned back slightly on the couch, crossing your arms, allowing the peaceful moment to settle in.

Y/N: "I get it. You know, I've always admired how well you handle everything. You make it seem so effortless. But I also know that behind all that, you have moments like this-when you just want to breathe."

Tzuyu smiled softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her coffee cup.

Tzuyu:"I think everyone has those moments, right? When they just need to catch their breath?"

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. It was a humbling reminder that, no matter how successful someone might seem, they too had their quiet struggles, their moments of doubt. Tzuyu had just shared one of those with you. And that vulnerability, that openness, made her even more real, more relatable than she had ever been in the studio lights.

Y/N: "Of course. And you deserve to take those moments whenever you need them."

Tzuyu let out a small, content sigh, her gaze softening as she let her head rest against the back of the couch. The way she seemed to settle into the space beside you felt... natural, as if she were finding peace in the moment, in the quiet, in your company. There was a sense of trust here, a sense of calm between the two of you that had developed over the course of the night.

Tzuyu: "It's nice to just... be with someone who understands. I feel like I don't always have to explain myself. You know?"

The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat. There was an intimacy in what she had just said, a rawness that made you feel incredibly close to her in that moment. You didn't need words to convey the understanding between you two. It was there in the way she held your gaze, the way she relaxed into the couch beside you. You could feel the air between you shift just slightly, like the space between you was shrinking, becoming more charged with something you couldn't quite put a name to.

Y/N: "I get that," you said softly. "I never want you to feel like you have to explain anything to me, Tzuyu. Not about your music, not about you..."

Tzuyu blinked a couple of times, her eyes softening further. She seemed almost... moved by your words. Her hand shifted slightly, now closer to yours, and for a brief moment, your fingers brushed against each other. It was a simple touch, but it sent a shiver through your body, something unspoken passing between you both. She looked down at her hand, then back up at you, a playful glint returning to her eyes.

Tzuyu: "You know, I think I like the way you see me. Like I'm not just Tzuyu to you as in TWICE."

The quiet intensity of her gaze made your heart race. She had caught you off guard with that statement, but it also made you realize something-you had never seen her as just another idol. Tzuyu was more than that, and tonight, it was impossible to deny how strong the connection between the two of you was becoming.

Y/N: "You're not just another idol to me, Tzuyu. Though iam honoured that you like smth about me at least"

She smiled again, this time a little more coy, a little more knowing. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as if she were contemplating something. You could feel the energy shift between you, the tension building as the moments stretched on.

Tzuyu: "Good. Because... I don't think I want to be just an idol to you."

You felt your pulse quicken at her words. The underlying meaning was clear, but neither of you had openly acknowledged it yet. Still, the words hung in the air, and the more you let them linger, the more you realized that you, too, were starting to feel something stronger than just professional admiration. Something deeper.

Y/N: "I think... I don't want you to be just an idol to me either."

The words felt like a revelation, like something that had been buried beneath layers of professionalism was finally surfacing. Tzuyu's eyes softened at your confession, her lips curling into a smile that was both gentle and full of promise. She moved just a little closer, her hand resting a little closer to yours. You could feel the warmth of her proximity, the electricity that seemed to crackle between you. Her hand gently brushed against yours again, this time lingering for just a heartbeat longer. And then, her fingers curled lightly around yours, a silent invitation for you to hold her hand. And you did.

The night was winding down, but the energy between you and Tzuyu hadn't quite fizzled out. The rain had softened into a steady patter against the windows, and the dim lights of the studio illuminated the room in a soft glow. You both sat close to one another, yet there was an undeniable distance between you two-one that was begging to be bridged. Tzuyu's hand, still resting lightly in yours, felt like the spark you'd been waiting for all night. The quiet tension between you two had grown, each moment stretching the boundaries of your professional relationship, moving it into something more.

Y/N: "Tzuyu..."

You spoke her name softly, barely above a whisper, but it was enough to break the silence. She turned her head to look at you, her eyes still soft but filled with curiosity. Her hand squeezed yours lightly, an unspoken invitation for you to continue.

Tzuyu: "Hmm?"

Her voice was soft, almost teasing, like she knew you were on the verge of saying something important. The air between you two felt thick with anticipation, but you didn't know where to begin. There was an almost magnetic pull between you and her, an invisible force drawing you in. Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity, stretching the space between you two thinner and thinner.

Y/N: "You're... really something else, Tzuyu."

Tzuyu's eyes sparkled with mischief at your words. She raised an eyebrow, teasingly.

Tzuyu: "What do you mean?"

You glanced at her, noting how her lips curled into that coy smile, how her fingers still intertwined with yours, almost as if she were testing the waters. Her playfulness made you want to dive deeper, but you could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on you.

Y/N: "I mean... just... you." You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck in nervousness. "I've been around a lot of people, Tzuyu. But there's something different about you. Something that... I don't know, makes me feel like I want to know you more. In a way that goes beyond just... work."

Tzuyu didn't speak right away. Instead, she regarded you with a thoughtful expression, her fingers playing gently with yours as if she were weighing your words.

Tzuyu: "I feel the same way."

Her words hit you like a wave, and your heart skipped a beat. The simple honesty of it made the room feel even smaller, more intimate. The barrier that had been there between you both-unspoken, but undeniably present-seemed to dissolve in that single sentence. The space between you two was suddenly charged. Her fingers tightened around yours, the contact sparking something deep within you. Your body leaned in just slightly, and she mirrored the movement without hesitation, closing the small gap between you. There was no longer any distance, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Tzuyu: "You're not like other people, you know that?"

You felt a soft laugh bubble up in your throat at her words. The way she said it was almost serious, but there was a hint of amusement in her tone.

Y/N: "You're not so bad yourself."

Tzuyu chuckled, her laughter melodic and warm. It made the atmosphere around you feel even more comforting. The way she was looking at you, the quiet intensity in her gaze, made your pulse quicken. She seemed to be studying you, reading the silent language between you both. And in that moment, you realized just how much you wanted to be closer to her. She leaned in, her lips just inches from your ear as she spoke softly.

Tzuyu: "Do you feel it too? The spark?"

You didn't even hesitate. Your voice was low and sincere as you nodded, your eyes locking with hers.

Y/N: "Yeah, I do."

And before either of you could say another word, the tension finally broke. Tzuyu closed the remaining distance, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tender but full of intention. It wasn't rushed or frantic-it was as if the world had paused just for the two of you. She pulled you closer, her free hand gently cupping your cheek, as if grounding her to you. Tzuyu's fingers slid up to your jaw, her touch light but deliberate. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the connection between you both intensifying with every second that passed. The world outside seemed to disappear, and it was just you and Tzuyu in that moment-two people who had been circling around each other for hours, waiting for the right time to finally close the gap. When you pulled away for a brief second, Tzuyu's eyes were wide, a mixture of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. Her lips were slightly parted, and she let out a small, shaky breath.

Tzuyu: "Wow. I didn't think it would feel like that."

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face as you leaned your forehead against hers.

Y/N: "Neither did I."

But the truth was, you both had known from the very beginning that this moment was inevitable. The sparks had been there from the start-the chemistry, the shared understanding, the quiet tension that had built up over time. And now, here you were, finally acknowledging what had been simmering beneath the surface all along. Tzuyu smiled softly, her hand now resting against your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath her palm. Her touch was gentle, but there was an undeniable warmth radiating from her that made you feel grounded.

Tzuyu: "You... make me feel something I haven't felt in a long time."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in her words made your heart race. You felt your own emotions swell as you pulled her closer again, this time not as a colleague, not as an artist and producer-but as two people who had found something unexpected in each other.

Y/N: "I'm glad I'm here with you, Tzu." Her smile was all you needed. It was a promise, an unspoken vow that whatever this was-whatever it had become-it was real. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything in your life had finally clicked into place.

As the rain continued to pour outside, you stayed there with her, savoring the quiet, the closeness, and the feeling that something beautiful was just beginning. The studio was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint sound of rain against the windows. You had been sitting in front of your computer screen, reviewing Tzuyu's recent recordings for her upcoming solo album, but you couldn't focus. Your mind kept drifting back to her-the way she moved, the way she smiled, the way she seemed to carry herself with such grace and confidence. The longer you spent with her, the more you realized that there was something about her that made everything feel right.

Tzuyu had stepped out for a quick break, giving you the time you needed to clear your head. But it hadn't worked. The quiet space only gave you more time to think, to realize just how much you cared for her, how much you wanted to be close to her. And now, with her absence in the room, you couldn't ignore the truth any longer: You were falling for her. Hard. The door creaked open, and you looked up to see Tzuyu standing there, her long hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She had changed into a more comfortable outfit-a simple hoodie and jeans-but the way she carried herself still made her look effortlessly beautiful.

Tzuyu: "I'm back," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody. "Got caught up in a few things." You smiled, though you could feel the tension in the air between you both. The moments you shared earlier had been lighthearted, playful even, but now that she was back, it felt different. The atmosphere was thick with something unspoken. You both stood at the edge of something, neither one willing to take that first step.

Tzuyu moved to sit beside you at the desk, her gaze meeting yours. There was a softness in her eyes, but also a flicker of curiosity-like she could sense the shift in the air too. Her fingers brushed against yours as she reached for the coffee cup you had placed beside the keyboard. The touch sent a shock through your body, and you had to fight the urge to pull back, to avoid the growing tension between you two. You swallowed hard, suddenly nervous. You had been so sure of your feelings before, but now that the moment had come, you weren't sure what to say. The words were stuck in your throat, and you struggled to find the courage to speak them.

Y/N: "Tzuyu, there's something I need to tell you."

She paused, her hand frozen in mid-air as she looked at you. There was an intensity in her gaze, and for the first time, it felt like you were truly seen. The playful banter and the friendly gestures from earlier were gone, replaced with something deeper. Something real.

Tzuyu: "What is it?" Her voice was soft, almost tentative, like she was bracing herself for something important.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. This was it. This was the moment you had been avoiding, the moment where everything could change. You looked at her, trying to find the right words, but all that came out was the truth.

Y/N: "I've been trying to ignore it, to pretend like it's just... you know, nothing. But it's not nothing. Tzuyu, I... I think I'm falling for you. I know i said before that it was just liking and feeling the spark you talked about. But tbh, it felt like lying to myself because It's not only liking for you that i have."

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncertain, like they could shatter everything between you two. You watched her face closely, waiting for a reaction-any reaction. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the nerves twisting in your stomach. Tzuyu didn't say anything for a long moment. She just sat there, staring at you with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted. You couldn't tell if she was shocked, confused, or... something else entirely. You felt your anxiety rising, and before you could say anything else, she spoke.

Tzuyu: "You're... falling for me?"

The way she said it was gentle, almost like she was trying to understand it, to make sense of the words. Her voice was soft, and you could see a small blush creeping onto her cheeks even though her expression had concentration and subtle tension

Y/N: "Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know when it happened, but... it's been building up, and now I can't ignore it anymore. I care about you, Tzuyu. More than I should, maybe, but I do."

Tzuyu blinked a few times, clearly processing your confession. She let out a small, nervous laugh, her eyes not leaving yours.

Tzuyu: "I had a feeling... I mean, I've been feeling something too. But I didn't want to say anything because... well, I didn't know if you felt the same way."

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You weren't alone in this. She felt it too. Her gaze finally softening as she leaned in closer. Her hand found yours again, and this time, you didn't pull away. You let her fingers intertwine with yours, the contact warm and reassuring.

Tzuyu: "I didn't want to admit it either, but... I really like you, Y/N. More than I thought I would."

The air between you two shifted again, this time in a way that made you feel lighter, more at ease. The tension had melted away, replaced by a gentle warmth that filled the room. You smiled, your thumb gently brushing against the back of her hand.

Y/N: "I'm glad... I was afraid I might have ruined everything by saying it."

Tzuyu shook her head, her smile growing wider.

Tzuyu: "No, you didn't ruin anything. I'm happy you said it."

There was a quiet moment where you both just sat there, hands still entwined, the weight of your confession sinking in. The uncertainty that had plagued the air earlier was gone now, replaced by a shared understanding. You both knew where this was going, and it felt... right.

Y/N: "So, what now?"

Tzuyu's eyes sparkled as she leaned in, her lips just barely grazing your ear.

Tzuyu: "Well... I think we should take it slow. But if you want, we can figure it out together."

You nodded, your heart swelling with happiness. She wasn't pulling away; she was leaning into this, just like you. And just like that, it felt like everything had fallen into place. You both leaned back into your seats, still holding hands, as the quiet music of the studio filled the space between you. The rain outside continued its steady rhythm, but inside, everything felt peaceful. You didn't need to rush. You didn't need to figure it all out right now. All that mattered was that, for the first time in a long time, you both understood each other-and that was enough.

---------

The quiet hum of the studio equipment fades into the background as Tzuyu’s fingers tighten around yours, her breath hitching ever so slightly. The air between you two crackles with something new—something hungry. Her dark eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up, a shy but unmistakable desire burning behind her gaze.

"Y/N…" Her voice is barely a whisper, laced with a nervous tremor. "I-I’ve never… done this before. But I want to. With you."

Your thumb strokes the back of her hand gently, reassuringly. "We don’t have to rush, Tzuyu. You did say we can take it slow. We can stop anytime—"

She shakes her head, cutting you off with a sudden boldness that surprises you both. Her free hand lifts, fingertips brushing against your jawline before sliding down your neck, over your collarbone, and finally resting against your chest. You can feel your heartbeat thundering under her palm. "I don’t want to stop, i changed my mind," she murmurs, her voice dropping lower, huskier. "I’ve thought about this… about you… too much."

Before you can respond, she leans in, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that starts soft—hesitant—but quickly deepens as her tongue swipes against your bottom lip, asking for entry. You groan into her mouth, one hand tangling in her hair as the other grips her waist, pulling her closer until she’s straddling your lap. The heat of her body against yours is intoxicating, her hips grinding down instinctively, making your cock twitch painfully against the confines of your pants.

She breaks the kiss with a gasp, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen. "Fuck…" she breathes, eyes darting down to where your erection strains against your zipper. "I knew you’d be big, but—" Her fingers tremble as she undoes your belt, then your button, her breath coming in short, eager bursts. "Can I… see it?"

You nod, lifting your hips slightly to help her tug your pants and boxers down just enough for your cock to spring free, thick and already leaking at the tip. Tzuyu’s lips part in a silent gasp, her fingers wrapping around your shaft experimentally, giving it a slow, tentative stroke. A bead of pre-cum glistens at your slit, and before you can even process it, she leans down, her tongue darting out to lick it up with a soft "Mmmf~" that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Shit, Tzuyu—" you choke out, hips bucking slightly as her warm, wet mouth closes around your tip, sucking gently. Her doe eyes flick up to yours, watching your reaction as she takes you deeper, her lips stretching obscenely around your girth. "Fuck, your mouth feels—ahh~!"

She moans around your cock, the vibration making your toes curl, and then—without warning—she pushes further, her nose brushing against your pelvis as she takes you all the way down her throat. Her eyes water, but she doesn’t pull back, her throat fluttering around you as she gags slightly before relaxing, adjusting. "Hnngh~! Tzuyu, you’re—fuck—you’re gonna make me cum if you keep—"

She pulls off with a lewd pop, saliva stringing from her lips to your cock as she pants, her voice wrecked already. "Good," she rasps, her fingers stroking you lazily. "I want to taste you… all of you." And then she dives back down, swallowing you whole again, her head bobbing faster now, her free hand cupping your balls, massaging them as she works your length with a desperation that belies her earlier shyness. The wet, filthy sounds of her throat taking you fill the studio, her muffled whimpers of "Nggh~! Mmmf—!" sending you hurtling toward the edge. You fist her hair, not forcing, just holding, as your hips jerk up involuntarily, fucking into her mouth. "Tzuyu, I’m—I’m gonna—"

She hums in response, her eyes fluttering shut as she takes you deeper, her throat milking you as you finally spill down it with a broken groan, your cum flooding her mouth in thick, hot pulses. She swallows every drop, her tongue lapping at your oversensitive tip until you’re twitching, oversensitive, pulling her off with a gasp. She sits back on her heels, lips glistening, chin slick with spit, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she meets your dazed gaze.

"Did… did I do okay?" she asks, voice small but her eyes gleaming with something smug, something hungry. You let out a breathless laugh, dragging her into a searing kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue. "More than okay. Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me." She giggles—soft, sweet, and sinful—her fingers already trailing lower, toward the button of her own jeans. "Good. Because I’m not done with you yet."

Tzuyu pulls back from the kiss with a devilish glint in her eyes, her fingers already working the button of her jeans. She stands up slowly, swaying her hips just enough to make your mouth go dry as she shimmies out of the denim, revealing toned thighs and that mouthwateringly tight ass of hers—round, plush, and begging to be gripped. The way her panties cling to her curves makes your cock twitch again, already half-hard from the sight alone. "Like what you see?" she teases, biting her lower lip as she peels off her top next, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts—not big, but perky, perfectly shaped, her nipples already pebbled under the thin fabric of her bra—make your fingers itch to touch. She unhooks the clasp with practiced ease, letting the garment drop, and your breath catches.

Goddess. Absolute fucking goddess.

She steps closer, her bare skin glowing under the dim studio lights, her abdomen soft yet toned, her hips sinfully curved, leading your gaze downward like a temptation you can’t resist. She kneels between your legs again, her fingers tracing up your thighs before wrapping around your cock, already hardening again under her touch. "Y/N…" Her voice is sweet, almost innocent, but the way her thumb swipes over your leaking tip is anything but. "Can I try something?"

You nod, swallowing hard as she leans in, her lips brushing against your shaft before she looks up at you through her lashes, doe-eyed and demure—but the words that leave her mouth are anything but.

"I want to choke on it." Your brain short-circuits. Did she just—?

Before you can even process it, she’s taking you deep, too deep, her throat fluttering around you as she forces herself down until her nose presses into your pelvis. Tears bead at the corners of her eyes, but she doesn’t pull back, her fingers digging into your thighs as she holds herself there, gagging slightly before relaxing, her throat milking you. "F-fuck, Tzuyu—!" You instinctively thread your fingers through her hair, not pushing, just��guiding, your voice strained. "You don’t have to—ahh~!—hurt yourself, Tzu."

She pulls off with a wet gasp, saliva dripping from her swollen lips, her chest heaving. "I like it," she admits, voice wrecked, her fingers stroking you lazily. "Feels… good. Like you’re claiming me." Your cock throbs at her words, at the filthy way she says them—so sweetly, so earnestly, like she’s confessing something sacred. You cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear.

"You’re perfect," you murmur, heart swelling as she nuzzles into your touch. "But I don’t want you to push too hard, okay? We go at your pace." She smiles—genuine, warm—before her expression shifts into something hungrier, her tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your length. "Then let me practice," she purrs, before swallowing you down again, deeper, slower, her throat working around you like she was made for this

. And as her head bobs, her moans vibrating against your cock, her free hand sneaking between her own thighs—fuck, is she touching herself?—you realize one thing with dizzying clarity: This angel-faced, soft-spoken, Tzuyu you think you knew? She’s a fucking needy slut for you. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tzuyu pulls off your cock with a lewd, wet pop, her lips glistening with a mix of spit and your cum. She looks up at you through her lashes, her cheeks flushed, her breathing uneven—and there’s something unbearably smug in her expression as she licks her lips clean. "You came so fast," she murmurs, her voice a mix of awe and pride. "Was I… that good?"

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Too good," you admit, your thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip. "I didn’t expect you to be so… natural at this." She giggles—soft, sweet, but with an undercurrent of something darker, something hungry. Her hands trail up your thighs before she rises, straddling your lap again, her bare skin pressed flush against yours. The heat of her is intoxicating, her perky tits brushing against your chest as she leans in, her lips ghosting over yours. "I like it," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. "When you lose control because of me. It makes me feel… loved."

Your heart clenches at her words, at the raw honesty in them. You cup her face, pulling her into a slow, deep kiss, your tongue sliding against hers in a lazy dance. She melts into it, her fingers tangling in your hair, her hips grinding down against yours in slow, teasing circles. When she pulls back, her eyes are dark, her lips swollen. "I want to make love first," she murmurs, her fingers trailing down your chest. "Before we… fuck."

You blink, tilting your head. "What’s the difference?"

She bites her lip, her fingers hooking into the sides of her panties. Slowly, teasingly, she peels them off, revealing smooth, flawless skin, the faintest hint of pink between her thighs. Your mouth goes dry at the sight. "Making love is… slow," she explains, her voice trembling slightly as she guides your hand between her legs. "Gentle. Like you’re worshipping me." Her breath hitches as your fingers brush over her slick folds, her hips jerking slightly at the contact. "Fucking is… harder. Rougher. When you ruin me."

Your cock twitches against her thigh at her words, at the way her voice drops into something filthy despite her innocent face. But then her next words make your heart stop. "I’m a virgin," she admits, her eyes locked onto yours. "But… don’t worry about blood. My hymen tore a long time ago from using tampons." She swallows, her fingers tightening around yours. "I just… I want you to be my first. In every way." Your chest tightens, your grip on her hip unconsciously tightening. "Tzuyu…" She silences you with a kiss, her body pressing closer, her warmth seeping into you. "Please," she breathes against your lips. "I want to feel you. All of you."

You nod, your hands sliding down to grip her thighs, lifting her slightly as you shift, laying her back against the studio couch. Her breath comes in short, eager bursts as you hover over her, your eyes tracing every inch of her—her perfect tits, her toned stomach, the way her hips curve, the drenched heat between her thighs. You kiss her again, slow, deep, your hands mapping her body like you’re memorizing her. She arches into your touch, her nails digging into your shoulders as you trail kisses down her neck, her collarbone, finally taking one pert nipple into your mouth. She gasps, her back arching off the couch as you suck, your tongue flicking over the stiff peak.

"Ahh~! Y/N—!" Her voice is already wrecked, her hips grinding up against nothing, seeking friction. "P-please…" You smile against her skin, your hand sliding down her stomach, fingers dipping between her folds. She’s soaked, her arousal coating your fingers as you circle her clit, slow, teasing.

"You’re dripping, Tzuyu," you murmur, your thumb pressing down just hard enough to make her whimper. "All for me?" She nods frantically, her legs spreading wider, inviting you in. "A-all for you," she whines, her back arching as you slide a finger into her, her tight walls clenching around you. "F-fuck, more—!" You add a second finger, curling them just right, and her entire body jolts, her moans turning shrill, desperate. "Hahhh~! There, there, there—!"

You watch, mesmerized, as she falls apart under your touch, her orgasm crashing over her with a broken cry, her thighs trembling around your hand. She collapses back against the couch, her chest heaving, her skin flushed. You lean down, kissing her gently as she comes down, her fingers weakly tangling in your hair. "Ready?" you whisper against her lips. She nods, her eyes hazy but determined. "I want you inside me," she breathes. "Now."

You don’t make her wait. You line yourself up, your cock pressing against her entrance, and with one slow, agonizing thrust, you sink into her, her tight heat engulfing you.

She gasps, her nails digging into your back, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper. "Oh fuck—!" she chokes out, her walls fluttering around you. "S-so big—!" You groan, your forehead dropping to hers as you still, letting her adjust. "Okay?" you rasp, your voice strained with the effort of not pounding into her. She nods, her hips rolling experimentally, making you both groan. "M-move," she whimpers. "Please, move."

You obey, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, slow, deep, worshipping her like she asked. Her breath hitches with every thrust, her moans soft, sweet, her body melting into yours. This—this is making love. The way she clings to you, the way her lips find yours in messy, desperate kisses, the way she whimpers your name like a prayer— And when her second orgasm hits, when she screams but trying to lower it, her walls milking you, you know— You’re ruined for anyone else. Just like she wanted.

Tzuyu's tight, velvety walls clench around your thick cock as she rides you in the intimate face-off position—her forehead pressed desperately against yours, her breath hot and ragged against your lips. Every slow, deep thrust draws a whimper from her swollen mouth, her nails digging crescent moons into your shoulders as she bounces in your lap, taking you deeper with each roll of her hips. "Y/N—ahh~! F-feels so... so good inside me," she gasps, her voice trembling with each upward grind of your cock against her sensitive walls. Her slick arousal coats your length, the lewd squelch of her dripping pussy filling the studio air as she clings to you, her body trembling on the edge of another climax.

You exhale sharply, your hands gripping her waist, guiding her movements—slow, deep, worshipping—just like she wanted. The way her tight cunt grips you, the way her breath hitches every time you bottom out inside her, the way her swollen clit rubs against your pelvis with every bounce— It’s maddening.

But despite the overwhelming pleasure, you force yourself to hold back, your teeth gritting as you slow her hips. "Tzuyu—fuck, I’m close, but you’re not on birth control—" She whines, her hips stuttering, her pussy clenching around you in protest. "N-no, please—I want you to—ahh~!—finish in me!" Her voice is desperate, her thighs shaking as she grinds down harder, her walls fluttering around you. You moan your fingers digging into her hips to still her. "Tzuyu, we can’t—"

She cuts you off with a frantic kiss, her tongue sliding against yours before she pulls back, her eyes dark with need. "M-my purse," she pants, nodding toward her bag on the studio table. "I—I have had pills. Emergency ones." You blink, stunned. "You... planned for this?" Her cheeks flush crimson, her lashes fluttering as she avoids your gaze. "I... might have thought about it. A lot." She bites her lip, her hips giving a slow, teasing roll that makes you groan. "I wanted to be ready... in case we ever... did this."

Your grip on her tightens, your cock throbbing inside her at her admission. "Fuck, Tzuyu—" You crush your lips to hers, your tongue delving deep as your hips snap up, harder now, no longer holding back. "You’re gonna be the death of me." She moans, her back arching as you fuck up into her with rough, claiming thrusts, her nails raking down your back. "Hahhh~! Yes, like that—fuck me, ruin me—!"

Her words send a jolt of white-hot lust straight to your cock, your thrusts turning brutal, possessive, your forehead still pressed to hers as you pound into her dripping cunt. Her moans turn shrill, her body quivering as her third orgasm rips through her, her walls milking you desperately. "C-cum in me," she sobs, her voice breaking as she clenches around you. "P-please, fill me—!"

You snapped like clip at her words, burying yourself to the hilt, your cock pulsing as you empty yourself inside her, thick ropes of cum flooding her tight channel. She whimpers, her body trembling as she takes every last drop, her own climax still wracking through her. When the aftershocks finally subside, she collapses against your chest, her breath coming in ragged pants, her sweat-slick skin pressed against yours. You hold her close, your fingers tracing lazy circles on her back as you both come down from the high.

After a long moment, she lifts her head, her lips curling into a shy, sated smile. "...So. That was making love and fucking." You chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And we’re definitely doing both again." She giggles, nuzzling into your neck. "Good. Because I’m not done with you yet." And as her fingers trail lower, her lips finding yours again, you realize one thing with absolute certainty— You’re fucked in the best way possible.

Tzuyu pulls back from your embrace with a mischievous glint in her eyes, her fingers already reaching for her discarded panties. She slides them back on with deliberate slowness, the fabric clinging to her still-damp folds as she bites her lip playfully. "Now you," she murmurs, nodding toward your boxers. "Put them back on."

You raise an eyebrow, confused but intrigued, as you tug your boxers up over your half-hard cock, the fabric straining slightly against your renewed arousal. Before you can ask what she's planning, Tzuyu straddles your lap again, this time with the thin barrier of clothing between you. She leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, "I'm going to edge you until you're begging to be inside me again."

Her hips roll forward in a slow, torturous grind, the heat of her pussy pressing against your cock through the layers of fabric. The friction is maddening—not enough to push you over the edge, but just enough to keep you achingly hard, your breath hitching as she controls the pace with teasing precision. "F-fuck, Tzuyu—" you groan, your hands gripping her waist as she rides you through your boxers, her wetness seeping into the fabric. "You're killing me."

She giggles, her breath warm against your neck as she grinds down harder, her clit rubbing against the base of your cock with each movement. "Mmhn~... You like this, don't you?" Her voice is sweet, innocent, but the way she rolls her hips is anything but. "Feeling me so close but not letting you cum?" You grit your teeth, your cock throbbing beneath her, the pressure just shy of enough to tip you over. She’s taunting you, her movements calculated to keep you right on the edge, her own pleasure evident in the way her breath hitches with each grind. Then, without warning, she stops, her body stilling as she pulls back to look at you, her lips curled into a devilish smirk. "Oops. Too close?"

You exhald sharply almost like an airy groan, your fingers digging into her hips as you pinned her beneath you. Her eyes widen, her chest rising and falling rapidly as you hover over her, your voice a low, soft whisper, "Your playing a lot, Tzu. Like fire or something?" She grins, her legs wrapping around your waist as she pulls you closer, her voice a breathy whisper. "Then burn me." And just like that, the game resets—but this time, you're in control.

Tzuyu's breath hitches as your fingers hook into the waistband of her panties once more, peeling them down her toned thighs with deliberate slowness. The air between you crackles with anticipation as you reveal her glistening, shaved pussy—her delicate pink lips already swollen and dripping with arousal.

The sight makes your cock twitch painfully against your boxers, and with one swift motion, you push them down, freeing your thick length once more. You hover over her, caging her between your arms as you brush your nose against hers, your voice low and tender. "Tell me what you want. Hard? Or slow?" Her dark eyes search yours, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she considers your question. A shy smile tugs at her lips before she murmurs, "Start... mid. Then—ah—faster when I say." Her fingers trail down your chest, her touch featherlight. "I want to feel you build up inside me."

You nod, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before guiding your cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her slick folds. She gasps as you push in, her tight walls fluttering around you as you sink in slowly, giving her body time to adjust to your girth. Her breath comes in short, shaky bursts, her nails digging into your biceps as you bottom out, your hips flush against hers. "O-oh fuck—" she whimpers, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper. "Y-You feel... so big..."

You groan, your forehead dropping to hers as you begin to move—mid-paced, just as she asked. Each thrust is deep, measured, your cock dragging against her sensitive walls in a way that has her toes curling. Her breathy moans fill the studio, her hips lifting to meet yours with every roll of your hips. You watch her face—every flicker of pleasure, every bitten lip, every flutter of her lashes—as you make love to her. Your hands roam her body, memorizing every curve, every dip, your touch reverent. When your thumb brushes over her clit, she jolts, a broken cry tearing from her lips.

"Y/N—! R-right there—!. P-please, harder now—!" You obey, your thrusts growing more forceful, more urgent, but never rough—never without care. Your hips snap forward, driving into her with enough force to make the couch creak beneath you, but your hands cradle her face, your lips capturing hers in a searing kiss to swallow her moans.

She screams into your mouth, her walls fluttering wildly as her climax crashes over her, her body shaking beneath you. But you don’t stop—can’t stop—not when she’s clinging to you, her nails raking down your back as she sobs for more. "D-don’t stop—! Fuck, don’t stop—!" You won’t. Not until she’s begging you to.

Your thrusts falter for just a moment as your brain buzzes with arousal at her request—but concern still lingers at the edges of your lust-drunk mind. Your lips brush along the shell of her ear, your voice ragged but tender as you murmur, "Tzuyu... , are you sure you took the pill? It's—hnngh—it's safe? Despite me cumming in you earlier?" Her answer comes between gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair as she nods frantically. "Y-yes, yes—ahh~!—took it s-seven days ago... made sure—haah!—to be extra safe..." Her breath hitches as you grind deep, her walls fluttering around your cock as she arches beneath you. "W-wanted—wanted you to breed me... fill me up... please—!"

The raw desperation in her voice sends a jolt of white-hot need straight to your cock. You pull back just enough to see her face—her cheeks flushed, her lips parted in swollen, panting breaths, her eyelashes fluttering as she looks up at you with pure devotion. The sight of her like this—goddess-like in beauty, yet ruined with pleasure just for you—makes your chest ache with something deeper than lust. To the world, she is Chou Tzuyu—TWICE's untouchable visual, the ethereal maknae with a face sculpted by the heavens. But here, beneath you, she is just yours—her body trembling, her perfect tits bouncing with each thrust, her toned stomach quivering as you drive into her over and over. The way her tight little pussy grips you, so warm and dripping, as if her body was made to take you... You can't help but groan, your hips snapping forward with renewed intensity, your voice a loving murmure against her skin. "Fuck—look at you... so perfect... taking me so well—" Her answering whimper is filthy, her legs locking around your waist to pull you deeper. "M-more—! Harder—! Wanna feel you—ahh~!—cumming inside me—!"

You oblige, your thrusts turning brutal, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the studio. Her moans grow shrill, her back arching off the couch as her nails rake down your back, her pussy clenching around you like a vice. You know you won't last much longer—not when she's begging for it like this, not when her body is milking you so perfectly. But you want to savor this—savor her—for just a little longer.

So you slow, just for a moment, your forehead pressing against hers as you catch your breath. "Tzuyu... look at me." Her hazy eyes meet yours, her lips parted in a silent gasp as you roll your hips in a slow, deep circle, grinding against her sweet spot. "I love you," you whisper, the words spilling out before you can stop them. Her breath catches, her eyes widening—before she melts, her entire body going pliant beneath you as she pulls you into a desperate, sloppy kiss. "I love you too," she whimpers against your lips. "Now please—fuck me like you mean it—!"

The moment the words leave her lips, something primal snaps inside you. Your grip on her hips tightens, fingers digging into her soft skin as you pull her impossibly closer, your cock throbbing deep inside her. The knowledge that she's safe—that she wants this, planned for this—sends a surge of possessiveness through you. "Fuck—Tzuyu—" Your voice is a ragged breath, your thrusts turning feral, each snap of your hips driving into her with enough force to make her gasp. "Gonna fill you up—gonna breed you so good—"

Her answering moan is broken, her back arching off the couch as she clings to you, her nails scraping down your back. Her pussy clenches around you, her walls fluttering wildly as she teeters on the edge of another climax. "Y-yes—! Please—!" she sobs, her legs trembling around your waist. "W-want it—want your cum—want you to own me—!" The filth spilling from her perfect lips is your undoing. With a guttural groan, you bury yourself to the hilt, your cock pulsing as you spill deep inside her, thick ropes of cum flooding her tight little cunt. She screams, her own orgasm crashing over her as she milks you for every last drop, her body shaking beneath you.

You collapse against her, your breath ragged as you press feverish kisses to her neck, her collarbone, her jaw—anywhere you can reach. She whimpers, her fingers carding through your hair as she comes down, her walls still fluttering around your softening cock. After a long moment, you pull back just enough to see her face—her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes dazed with pleasure.

You brush a stray strand of hair from her forehead, your voice soft. "Okay?" She nods, a lazy, sated smile curling her lips. "Mmm... more than okay." Her fingers trail down your chest, her touch featherlight. "You... really did it, huh?" You chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Yeah. Just like you wanted." She giggles, nuzzling into your neck. "Good. Because I'm definitely not done with you...for a long time~"And as her fingers trail lower, her lips finding yours again, you realize one thing with absolute certainty— this lovely night ain't over yet.

After a few moments of catching your breath, Tzuyu suddenly pushes against your chest with surprising strength—rolling you onto your back before straddling your thighs. Her smirk is downright sinful as she trails her fingertips down your sweat-slicked chest, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. "Tired already, oppa?" she teases, her thumbs circling your nipples with deliberate slowness. "And here I thought my producer-nim had... boundless stamina."You groan at both her words and the way she grinds her dripping slit against your thigh—her arousal leaving slick streaks on your skin.

Even spent, your cock twitches back to attention beneath her, betraying your hunger. "Fuck—you're relentless," you rasp, hands sliding up her toned thighs to grip her waist. Her answering laugh is pure velvet as she leans down, her breasts pressing against your chest as her lips brush yours—just out of reach when you try to kiss her properly. "You love it," she whispers before suddenly twisting her body in one fluid motion—her back now facing you as she settles into reverse cowgirl, her perfect ass pressing against your hips.

Her back is a fucking masterpiece—the elegant curve of her spine dipping into the lush swell of her ass, her shoulder blades shifting like wings with every slight movement. The studio lights catch every ripple of muscle as she lifts herself slightly, reaching behind to guide your cock back to her entrance. Her skin glows—flushed and dewy from exertion—and when she glances over her shoulder, her eyes are dark with intent. "Watch," she breathes, sinking down onto you in one torturously slow motion. "Watch how tight I take you like this."

And god —she's right. The angle makes her feel even tighter, her walls fluttering around you as she starts to ride you with shallow, experimental bounces. Her hands brace against your thighs for leverage, her back arching as she throws her head back— perfectly framing the way her silky hair spills between her shoulder blades. You can't resist sitting up slightly—one hand gripping her hip while the other trails up the ladder of her spine, making her shudder. "You're  gorgeous," you whisper, nipping at her shoulder. "Look at you—riding me like you were made for it."

She moans, her rhythm stuttering as your fingers tangle in her hair, gently tugging her head to the side to expose her neck. You lick a hot stripe up her pulse point, reveling in her gasp. "I was," she pants, her voice breaking as you thrust up to meet her next descent. "M-made for y-you—ahh~!" Her words unravel you. Your grip on her hip tightens as you help her move—guiding her into a faster, harder pace. The lewd slap of skin on skin fills the room, punctuated by her high, breathy whimpers. Every time she sinks down, her ass bounces against your pelvis—the sight so obscene you have to bite back a groan.

One of your hands slides around to her front, fingers finding her swollen clit with practiced ease. She jerks in your lap, a broken cry tearing from her lips as you circle the bundle of nerves in time with her movements. "Ngh~! T-too much—!" she sobs, but her hips don't stop—if anything, she grinds down harder, chasing the overstimulation.You chuckle, your lips against her ear. "You asked for this, Tzu. Wanted me to use you, remember?" Your fingers press down just enough to make her legs shake. "So take it. Take everything I give you."

Her answering whine is filthy, her body clenching around you as she nears another peak—but you slow your hand, denying her release. She whimpers, her rhythm faltering as she glares at you over her shoulder. "Y-Y/N—!"

"Oops~"

You smirk, pressing a kiss to the corner of her pouting lips. "Not yet. Gonna make you beg for it." And with that, you flip her onto her back again—her legs hooking around your waist as you loom over her, your cock still buried to the hilt. Her chest heaves, her eyes blown with lust as she realizes— You're far from done.

Tzuyu's breath comes in shallow gasps as she arches her back, her fingers gripping the couch cushions beneath her. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she speaks, laced with both hesitation and desire."Y/N... can you...?" She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing even deeper as she glances back at you over her shoulder. "I want you to... spank me. Just—just a little. Please?"

Your heart races at her timid request, your hands immediately soothing over the curve of her ass, massaging gently before you lean down to press a kiss between her shoulder blades. "Only if you're sure, Tzu. And we stop the second you want to, okay?"She nods eagerly, her body trembling with anticipation. "I trust you."

You start slow, your palm connecting with her right cheek in a light, almost playful tap. The sound is crisp in the quiet studio, and Tzuyu lets out a surprised little gasp—more from the sensation than any real pain. You rub the spot gently, watching the faint pink bloom under your fingertips."Okay?" you murmur, your other hand still caressing her hip reassuringly.She nods, pushing back against you slightly. "Mhm... again?"

You oblige, this time a little firmer—your hand landing on the other cheek with a soft smack. Tzuyu whimpers, her fingers tightening in the couch cushions, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she rocks her hips back, silently asking for more. You continue like this—alternating between soft spanks and soothing strokes, letting her adjust to the sensation. Each strike is measured, careful, never enough to truly hurt—just enough to make her skin flush a deeper shade of pink. Her breath hitches every time your palm connects, her body growing more pliant beneath your touch.

As Tzuyu grows more comfortable, her moans become louder, needier. She starts rolling her hips in time with your strikes, her slick arousal coating your thighs as she grinds against you. "H-harder," she whines, her voice trembling. "Please, Y/N—I can take it." You hesitate for only a second before giving her what she asks for—your next spank landing with a sharper crack, the sound echoing in the studio. Tzuyu yelps, her back arching, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she pushes back, her ass now a pretty, rosy red under your attention.

You alternate between spanks and gentle rubs, your other hand gripping her waist to steady her as she starts bouncing in your lap again. Each time your cock slides back into her, her walls clench around you, her pleasure mounting with every strike. "F-fuck—!" she sobs, her rhythm growing erratic. "It feels—ahh~!—so good—!" You watch, mesmerized, as her body reacts—her skin flushed, her breath coming in ragged pants, her pussy dripping around you. The contrast between the sharp sting of your spanks and the overwhelming pleasure of your cock inside her has her teetering on the edge, her moans turning shrill with desperation.

Even as you indulge her request, you never lose sight of her comfort. Between strikes, your fingers trail over her heated skin, soothing the slight sting before building it back up again. When she whimpers, you pause, pressing a kiss to the small of her back. "Still good?" you murmur, your voice thick with concern. She nodded, clearly eager for you to go on.

You oblige, your next spank landing just a little harder, making her jolt in your lap. Her pussy squeezes around you, her orgasm crashing over her with a broken cry. Her thighs tremble, her nails digging into the couch as she milks you through her climax, her body going taut before collapsing forward, spent. You catch her, pulling her against your chest as you both catch your breath. Your hands roam her back gently, tracing the faint marks left by your touch—not bruises, just a temporary blush of pink that’ll fade soon. She turns in your lap, as she nuzzles into your neck, her voice soft and sated. "Thank you..." You press a kiss to her forehead, your heart full. "Always, Tzuyu-yah."

Tzuyu's body is still trembling from her last climax, her oversensitive walls fluttering around your cock as you continue to move inside her—slow, deep thrusts that make her whimper with every drag of your length. Her fingers clutch at your shoulders, her nails digging in just enough to leave faint crescents in your skin as she tries to steady herself. "Y-Y/N—ahh~!—i-it's too much—!" Her voice is a broken plea, her thighs quivering as you push her further into overstimulation. But you don’t stop—not yet.

You want to see just how far she can go. You shift slightly, angling your hips to grind against that sweet spot inside her with every thrust. Her back arches off the couch, a strangled cry tearing from her lips as her pussy clenches around you like a vice. "I know, baby," you murmur, your voice rough with restraint as you press a kiss to her collarbone. "But you can take it. Just a little more—"

Her response is a garbled moan, her head thrashing against the cushions as you pick up the pace—your thrusts growing faster, harder, each one driving her closer to the edge again. Her legs lock around your waist, her heels digging into your back as if she’s trying to pull you even deeper. And then— It happens. A sharp, desperate cry rips from Tzuyu’s throat as her body seizes beneath you—her back bowing off the couch, her fingers scrambling for purchase against your skin. For a split second, you think she’s just coming again—but then you feel it.

The first gush is hot, slick, flooding between your bodies with enough force to drench your thighs. Tzuyu screams, her entire body convulsing as her pussy pulses around you, her release coming in waves—not just the thick, creamy femcum from before, but something more, something primal. The scent is musky, heady, the liquid gushing out of her in a near-geyser of pleasure and desperation, soaking the couch beneath you both. Her eyes are wide, her mouth agape in shock as she squirts—her body betraying her in the most filthy, beautiful way possible. Your hips snap forward, pounding into her through the mess, your cock sliding effortlessly in the slick heat of her ruined pussy. Tzuyu sobs, her hands flying to her face as she shakes, her thighs dripping with the evidence of her surrender.

"O-oh my god—!" she chokes out, her voice wrecked. "I-I didn’t—hahh~!—I didn’t mean to—!" You lean down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, your tongue sliding against hers as you claim her moans. "Shh, it’s okay," you growl against her mouth. "You’re perfect. So fucking perfect." Her answering whimper is broken, her body yielding to yours as you fuck her through the aftershocks, her pussy still clenching around you in weak, sporadic flutters.

The squelch of your thrusts is obscene, the sound of her dripping arousal filling the studio as you push her further, deeper into bliss. And when you finally spill inside her—your cum mixing with her mess—Tzuyu wails, her nails scoring down your back as her body locks around you, milking you for every last drop. You collapse against her, both of you panting, shaking, ruined. And as you press a kiss to her sweat-slicked forehead, her dazed, sated smile tells you everything you need to know.

You slowly pull out of Tzuyu's thoroughly used pussy with a soft, wet sound, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. Your cum spills out of her in thick, messy ropes, dripping onto the already ruined couch beneath her. Her thighs tremble as she instinctively tries to clench them together, but she’s too spent—too open after taking you so many times.

Tzuyu lets out a breathy sigh, her fingers lazily trailing through the mess between her thighs before lifting them to her lips. She licks her fingers clean with deliberate slowness, her dark, sparkling eyes locked onto yours with a mischievous glint you rarely see from her. "Mmm… delicious," she purrs, her voice still husky from exertion. Then, with a giggle that sounds almost wicked coming from someone as composed as her, she murmurs, "Think you can fill me one more time, oppa? Or are you finally tired...?"

You blink, stunned for a moment—both at her boldness and the way her usually elegant diction melts into something downright filthy in the afterglow. But then a slow grin spreads across your face as you lean in, trapping her beneath you again, your lips brushing her earlobe. "Oh, Tzu" you murmur, voice dripping with playful warning, "You’re gonna regret teasing me when I pin those pretty legs back and pound another load into you so deep you’ll taste it tomorrow." She shivers, nibbling her lip—but there’s no real hesitation in those doe-eyes. Just challenge. And when her fingers slide down to rub slow, teasing circles over her swollen clit.

Tzuyu slowly peels herself off the couch, her legs still trembling slightly as she lowers herself onto the plush carpet of the production room. She gets on all fours, her back arching elegantly as she presents her perfect, round ass to you—high, tight, and still faintly pink from your earlier attention. With a playful wiggle, she glances back over her shoulder, her usually composed face now flushed with a mix of shyness and boldness. "I... I want to try it," she murmurs, her voice softer now, less teasing—more vulnerable. "I-I brought... lube. Just in case." She nods toward her purse nearby, where a slim bottle of strawberry-flavored edible lube peeks out from the side pocket.

You blink, surprised but touched by her thoughtfulness—how she had planned for this moment, how she trusted you enough to explore this with her. Your heart swells as you reach for the bottle, your fingers brushing against hers gently before you take it. "You're sure?" you ask, your voice warm, your thumb stroking the back of her hand reassuringly. "We don’t have to if you’re not ready." She bites her lip, her eyes flickering with a mix of nervousness and determination before she nods. "I’m sure. I... I want to feel all of you."

You pop open the bottle, squeezing a generous amount of the sweet-smelling lube onto your fingers before warming it between them. Then, with deliberate tenderness, you drizzle it over her ass, watching as the pink-tinged liquid trails down the curve of her cheeks before pooling at her tight, puckered entrance. Tzuyu shivers at the sensation, her breath hitching as your fingers glide over her skin, spreading the lube in slow, soothing circles. "O-oh—" she whimpers, her hips shifting slightly. "It’s... cold." You chuckle softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the small of her back

"It’ll warm up soon," you murmur before gently pressing a slick fingertip against her rim, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. You take your time—rubbing, massaging, letting her body adjust to the foreign sensation before slowly pushing the tip of your finger past the tight ring of muscle. Tzuyu tenses immediately, her fingers curling into the carpet beneath her. "Breathe, Tzu," you remind her, your free hand stroking her hip soothingly. "Relax for me... that’s it." She exhales shakily, her body gradually loosening around your finger as you work it deeper, gently stretching her. The lube makes the glide smooth, and soon, you’re able to move in and out with ease, her walls fluttering around you in hesitant pulses. "H-how does it feel?" she asks, her voice small, uncertain. You chuckle, your fingers still moving with painstaking slowness. "Yeah, baby. Good weird." By the time you’re three fingers deep, her body is pliant, accepting, her earlier tension replaced by soft, breathy moans. She’s ready—but you still take a moment to lean over her, pressing your chest to her back as you nuzzle against her neck. "Still okay?" you whisper, your lips brushing her ear. She turns her head just enough to capture your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss before nodding. "Mhm... more than okay."

And with that silent permission, you finally—finally—line yourself up, your cock slick with lube as you press against her entrance, your heart pounding in your chest. This is going to be slow. This is going to be careful. And—if the way Tzuyu is whimpering beneath you is any indication—this is going to be perfect.

Your fingertips trace delicate patterns along Tzuyu’s spine as you hover over her, your bodies connected only by the heated anticipation between you. She shivers beneath your touch, her back arching ever so slightly—a silent plea for more. You lean down, pressing a tender kiss to the curve of her shoulder, your lips whispering against her skin: "You’re doing so well, hun… so perfect for me." Your voice is barely above a murmur, warm and thick with affection.

Tzuyu turns her head just enough to catch your lips in a slow, achingly sweet kiss, her lashes fluttering as she sighs into it. When she pulls back, her lips are glossy and slightly parted, her breath coming in soft, uneven puffs. "Y/N…" Her voice is small, vulnerable—so unlike her usual composed tone. It makes your chest tighten. "Will you… keep talking to me? Like this? It—ah—it helps." You nuzzle into the crook of her neck, your hands roaming her sides in slow, soothing strokes. "Of course," you promise, your lips brushing her pulse point. "Every second. I’ve got you."

You shift slightly, lining your cock up with her slicked entrance, your tip pressing just enough to make her tense for a fleeting moment. Instantly, you still, your hands returning to her hips in a grounding grip. "Breathe, Tzuyu," you remind her, your thumbs rubbing gentle circles into her skin. "In… and out. Just like that." She obeys, her body gradually relaxing beneath yours as you push forward—inch by agonizing inch. The heat of her is overwhelming, her walls hugging you in a vice-like grip, so tight it feels like her body is trying to fuse around you. A choked whimper slips from her lips, her fingers clawing at the carpet beneath her. You freeze. "Too much?" She shakes her head frantically, her voice shaky but determined. "N-no… j-just… full." She pants, her hips pressing back just slightly—enough to make you groan. "D-don’t stop."

You exhale a shuddering breath, your forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as you resume your slow, painstaking thrust deeper. Every movement is measured, careful, your cock sheathed in slick warmth as her body reluctantly yields to yours. When you’re finally fully seated, buried to the hilt, you both pause—breathing heavily, trembling against each other. Tzuyu’s fingers unclench from the carpet, her hand blindly reaching back to grasp at your thigh. "O-oh my god," she whimpers, her voice wrecked. "I-I can feel you… everywhere." You press a kiss to the damp skin between her shoulder blades, your hands roaming her body in slow, worshipful strokes. "You’re amazing," you murmur against her skin. "Taking me so good, so perfectly…"

She whines at your praise, her walls fluttering around you in a way that makes your vision blur. You grind deeper experimentally, earning a sharp gasp from her—but before you can pull back, she pushes against you, her hips rocking back in a silent plea for more. You chuckle, breathless, your lips curling into a smile against her back. "Greedy, huh?" you tease, your hands gripping her waist as you finally—finally—begin to move. And when she moans, loud and filthy, her body arching beneath yours, you know— You’re both ruined for anything else.

Tzuyu's ass is a work of art—high, round, and perfectly sculpted, the kind that makes your mouth water just looking at it. The soft globes are still faintly pink from your earlier spanking, the skin warm under your palms as you grip her hips. Her asshole is a tight, fluttering ring of muscle, clenching and unclenching nervously around the thick head of your cock. The strawberry lube glistens around her rim, making the stretched skin shine under the studio lights.

You move with agonizing slowness, letting her body adjust to the overwhelming stretch. Every inch you push in feels like a victory—her muscles resisting at first, then reluctantly yielding to your girth. Her breath comes in shaky gasps, her fingers twisting into the carpet as she tries to relax. "S-so big," she whimpers, her voice trembling. "F-feels like you're splitting me—"

You pause when you're halfway in, your cock throbbing inside her impossibly tight heat. Leaning over her, you press a kiss to the small of her back, your hands soothing up her sides. "Breathe, Tzuyu-yah," you murmur against her skin. "Just relax… you're doing so good." She nods, exhaling shakily as her body slowly loosens around you. You resume your slow push forward, watching with rapt attention as her ass swallows more of your length. The way her rim stretches around you is obscene—her pink flesh clinging to your shaft like it never wants to let go.

When you're finally fully sheathed inside her, you both freeze, panting. Tzuyu's whole body is trembling, her back arched beautifully as she adjusts to the overwhelming fullness. "O-oh god," she whines, her voice breaking. "I-I can feel you everywhere—" You groan, your fingers digging into her hips as you fight the urge to move. "Fuck, you're perfect," you grit out. "So tight… like you were made for me." She whimpers at your words, her walls fluttering around you in a way that makes your vision blur. You pull back just an inch before sliding back in, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has her moaning into the carpet. And as her body finally accepts you, her moans turn from pained to pleasured—her ass squeezing you just right with every thrust. She was made for this. Made for you.

Tzuyu's breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as she arches her back further, presenting her perfect ass to you in the most obscene invitation. The strawberry lube glistens around her stretched rim, her hole still fluttering from the initial penetration.

She glances back over her shoulder, her dark eyes hooded with lust, lips swollen from biting back moans. "Y/N…" Her voice is a breathy whisper, raw with need. "Start slow… but don’t be too gentle. I want to feel you—all of you " Her words send a jolt of heat straight to your cock, already buried to the hilt inside her tight heat. You lean over her, pressing your chest to her back as your lips find the shell of her ear. "Tell me if it’s too much," you murmur, your hands sliding down to grip her hips. "I’ll stop the second you need me to." She nods, her fingers twisting into the carpet beneath her as you finally—finally—begin to move.

You pull out almost completely, watching with rapt attention as her asshole clenches around nothing, trying to keep you inside. Then, with deliberate slowness, you push back in, your cock sinking into her tight heat inch by torturous inch. Tzuyu whimpers, her back arching as her body struggles to adjust to the stretch all over again. "F-fuck—" she gasps, her voice trembling. "S-so deep—" You groan, your fingers digging into her hips as you bottom out, your pelvis flush against her ass. The way her walls grip you is unreal—like her body was made to take you like this.

You pause, letting her adjust, your thumb rubbing soothing circles into her hipbone. "You’re doing so good, love" you praise, your voice rough with restraint. "Taking me so well…" She shudders at your words, her hole fluttering around you in a way that makes your vision blur.

Encouraged, you pull back again, this time setting a slow, steady rhythm—each thrust deep and measured, each withdrawal just enough to make her whine in protest. Tzuyu’s moans grow louder, her body gradually relaxing into the rhythm as pleasure begins to outweigh the initial discomfort. Her ass bounces slightly with each thrust, the lewd slap of skin on skin filling the studio. The sight is obscene—her perfect cheeks jiggling, her hole stretched wide around your cock, the lube making every movement slick and effortless.

After a few minutes of this agonizingly slow pace, Tzuyu pushes back against you, her voice a desperate whine. "Y/N—please—" Her fingers claw at the carpet, her hips rocking back to meet your thrusts. "I-I can take more… harder—" You groan, your grip on her hips tightening as you oblige, your thrusts growing faster, harder. The force of your movements sends her sprawling forward, her chest pressing into the carpet as you pound into her from behind. Her moans turn shrill, her walls clenching around you like a vice as pleasure overwhelms her. "O-oh god—!" she sobs, her voice breaking. "I-It’s—ahh~!—s-so good—!"

You lean over her, your chest pressing against her back as your lips find her ear. "You love this, don’t you?" you whisper, your voice thick with lust. "Love getting your tight little ass fucked like this?" Her answering wail is filthy, her body quivering beneath yours as you ruin her. And when your hand slides around to her front, your fingers finding her dripping pussy, she screams, her orgasm crashing over her with brutal intensity.

But you don’t stop—not when she’s begging for more, not when her body is milking you so perfectly. No, you’re just getting started.

Tzuyu's body arches beautifully beneath you, her flushed skin glistening under the studio lights as she takes every deep, rough thrust—her tight hole gripping you just right as she whimpers into the carpet. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mingling with her desperate moans. Her fingers scramble for purchase, nails digging into the plush fibers as she pushes back against you, "M-more—ahh~!—p-please, more—"

But despite the ferocity of your movements, your hands remain tender—one gripping her hip possessively, the other stroking down her spine in soothing, worshipful caresses. When her moans pitch higher, her body tensing as she nears another overwhelming climax, you suddenly slow—just enough to give her a moment to breathe. "Shh, I've got you," you murmur, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. "You're doing so good, baby—taking me perfectly." She whines, her hips squirming impatiently beneath you. "N-no—don't stop—!"

You smirk, leaning back just enough to admire the rosy blush already coloring her ass from earlier—but it’s not enough. Not when she’s begging so prettily. Your hand lifts, hovering just above her heated skin. "You want more?" you tease, your voice thick with affection. "Then tell me where." Her breath hitches, her body trembling as she glances back at you with wild eyes. "M-my… a-ass," she stammers, her cheeks flushing darker. "P-please…?" Your palm comes down in a sharp, stinging smack—just hard enough to make her jolt, her walls clenching around you in a way that has you groaning. She yelps, her back arching, but then— "A-ah! Again—!"

You comply, your strikes alternating between cheeks, each one landing with a crisp sound that echoes in the studio. Tzuyu’s moans grow louder, needier, her body rocking back to meet your thrusts as her skin turns a delicious shade of red. Yet, even as you mark her, your touches remain reassuring—your free hand rubbing circles into her lower back, your lips pressing apologetic kisses to every spot you strike. "That’s it," you praise, your voice a heated murmur against her skin. "Taking my cock and my hand like a good girl." She sobs at your words, her hips grinding down as another orgasm rips through her—her ass fluttering around you in rhythmic pulses. You groan, your thrusts turning erratic as her tight heat threatens to undo you, but you hold back, refusing to spill just yet.

Tzuyu whimpers softly as you guide her onto her stomach, her body stretching out in a straight line along the plush studio carpet. Her fingers curl into the fibers, gripping tightly as she presses her flushed cheek against the soft material, her breath coming in shallow pants. The curve of her back is a smooth, elegant slope, her ass still beautifully reddened from your earlier attention—just begging to be marked even more. "L-like this?" she murmurs, her voice trembling slightly as she glances back at you over her shoulder. Her dark eyes are wide, pupils blown with lust, her lips parted as she waits for your next move. You nod, running a soothing hand down her spine before settling over her, your chest pressing against her back as you line your cock up with her slick, stretched hole. "Perfect," you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of her ear

The angle is unreal. With her legs together beneath you and her hips slightly raised, her ass swallows you whole, her walls clenching around you in a way that makes your vision blur. You sink in slowly, savoring every inch of her tight heat, your hands gripping her waist to keep her steady. "O-oh fuck—" Tzuyu gasps, her fingers scrambling against the carpet as she struggles to adjust. "Y-You’re—ahh~!—s-so deep—" You groan, your forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as you bottom out, your hips flush against her ass. The sensation is overwhelming—her body hugging you in a way that feels made for this position. You stay like that for a moment, letting her adjust, your lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses along her spine.

"Breathe, Tzu, " you murmur, your voice rough with restraint. "Just relax… you’re taking me so well." She nods, her body gradually loosening beneath yours, and when you finally move, it’s with a slow, deep roll of your hips—pulling out almost completely before sinking back in with leisurely precision. Tzuyu whimpers, her back arching as the new angle hits her in ways she’s never felt before. "Y/N—ahh~!" she sobs, her voice breaking. "I-It’s—different—!" You smirk against her skin, your hands sliding up to pin her wrists gently against the carpet as you pick up the pace—your thrusts growing faster, harder, each one driving you deeper than before.

The slap of skin on skin is obscene, her ass jiggling with every brutal snap of your hips. Tzuyu's body trembles beneath you, her fingers twisting into the carpet as your thrusts grow deeper, more relentless. The angle of the prone bone position allows you to reach unimaginable depths, each snap of your hips drawing out broken, breathy moans from her lips. Her skin is slick with sweat, her back arching beautifully as she takes every inch of you, her tight hole fluttering around your cock in desperate pulses.

"Y-Y/N—ahh~!" she sobs, her voice cracking as another wave of pleasure crashes over her. Her thighs quiver, her body tensing—and then, with a sharp cry, she squirts again, her release soaking the carpet beneath her as her walls clench around you in rhythmic spasms. You slow your movements, your hands immediately soothing over her heated skin, rubbing gentle circles into her hips as she gasps for air. "Shh, it's okay," you murmur, your voice soft, tender. "You're doing so good, baby. Just breathe for me." She nods weakly, her body still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm.

You press a kiss to the nape of her neck, your lips lingering against her damp skin as you give her a moment to recover. When her breathing steadies, you lean back slightly, your cock still buried inside her, and brush her hair away from her face. "Where do you want me to finish, Tzuyu?" you ask, your thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "Tell me, and I'll give you exactly what you want." She turns her head just enough to meet your gaze, her dark eyes hazy with pleasure but still so trusting. A shy smile tugs at her swollen lips as she whispers, "On my back… please? I-I want to feel it… see it." Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she adds, "And later… you can breed my ass properly."

A pause occured on you at her word. That's hot

Your heart swells at her words—not just because of the filthiness of them, but because of the trust behind them. You press another kiss to her shoulder, your voice warm as you murmur, "Anything for you." You pull out slowly, your cock glistening with lube and her arousal, and guide her onto her back. She goes willingly, her body pliant beneath your touch as you settle between her thighs. Her skin is flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she watches you with hungry eyes.

You stroke yourself lazily, your thumb swiping over the head of your cock as you admire the mess you’ve made of her—her ass still red from your spanks, her thighs sticky with her own release. When your orgasm finally hits, you groan, your release painting thick, hot stripes across her stomach and chest. Tzuyu gasps, her fingers trailing through the mess with a look of awe. "So warm…" she murmurs, her voice breathless. You collapse beside her, pulling her into your arms as you both catch your breath.

Your fingers trace idle patterns along her spine, your lips pressing gentle kisses to her forehead. "You were amazing," you whisper, your voice full of affection. "So perfect for me." She nuzzles into your chest, her body still humming with pleasure as she sighs contentedly. "Mmm… next time, breed me like you promised?" You chuckle, your arms tightening around her. "Whenever you want"

The studio air still hummed with the heat of your earlier passion, the scent of sweat and sex clinging to your skin as you both caught your breath. Tzuyu lay half-draped across your chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns through the thin sheen of sweat on your collarbone. The quiet between you was comfortable, intimate—the kind that only exists when two bodies have learned each other so thoroughly that words become unnecessary.

But then her fingers trailed lower, her nails scraping lightly over your abdomen before wrapping around your half-hard cock with a playful squeeze. You groaned, your hips jerking instinctively as her thumb swiped over the sensitive head, still slick with lube and her own arousal. "Tzuyu—" you warned, but your voice lacked any real protest. She knew it too, her lips curling into that mischievous smile that always meant trouble.

"What?" she murmured, her voice dripping with faux innocence as she stroked you slowly, her touch feather-light. "I thought you were done." You caught her wrist gently, your fingers circling the delicate bones as you pulled her hand away—but not before your body betrayed you, your cock twitching in her grip. She giggled, the sound bright and infuriatingly pleased with herself. "You’re impossible," you muttered, but the fondness in your voice gave you away. She knew exactly what she was doing—knew how easily she could unravel you with just a look, a touch. And God help you, you loved it.

You sat up, pulling her with you, your hands settling on her hips as you guided her to her feet. She went willingly, her body pliant beneath your touch, but there was a glint in her eyes now—a challenge. She wanted to see how far she could push you before you snapped. And you were more than happy to oblige. The couch was still a mess—crumpled fabric damp with sweat and lube, the armrests bearing the faint imprints of her nails from earlier. You guided her toward it, your hands sliding up her back as you bent her over, her palms flattening against the leather. The position arched her back beautifully, her ass on full display—still red from your earlier attention, her hole slightly puffy from how thoroughly you’d fucked her.

You stepped closer, your cock sliding between her thighs, the heat of her skin maddening even before you lined yourself up. the head of your cock brushed against her entrance, her body remembering the stretch, the fullness. "Y-Y/N—" she gasped, her fingers tightening on the armrest. "I-It’s—" You leaned over her, your chest pressing against her back as your lips found her ear. "It’s what, baby?" you murmured, your voice low, teasing. "Too much? Or not enough?" She shuddered, her hips rocking back impatiently—her answer clear. You chuckled, your hands gripping her waist as you pushed forward, your cock sinking into her with agonizing slowness. The angle was different this time—deeper, tighter, her walls clenching around you in a way that made your vision blur.

Tzuyu cried out, her back arching as she took you, her body yielding perfectly to yours. You paused when you were fully sheathed, giving her a moment to adjust, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her hips. "Breathe," you reminded her, your voice soft despite the fire burning in your veins. "Just like that… good girl." She nodded, her exhale shaky as she relaxed beneath you.

Only then did you move—pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in with a deep, measured stroke. Tzuyu moaned, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the couch as you set a relentless pace, each snap of your hips driving you deeper than before. The sound alone was enough to undo you—the slap of skin on skin, the squelch of lube and her own arousal as you fucked her, the broken little whimpers spilling from her lips with every thrust.

And the sight—God, the sight. Her ass jiggled with every impact, the reddened skin clapping against your thighs as you pounded into her. Her back was a perfect, elegant curve, her shoulder blades shifting beneath smooth, sweat-slicked skin as she arched into your touch. And when you reached around to cup her breast, her nipple pebbling against your palm, she sobbed, her walls fluttering around you in a way that made your knees weak.

You groaned, your forehead dropping to her shoulder as you fought for control. She was ruining you—wrecking you—and she knew it. "Y-Y/N—ahh~!" she cried, her voice breaking as you hit just the right spot. "I-I’m gonna—please—" You knew what she was asking for—knew she was close again. But you slowed, your thrusts turning shallow, teasing, just to hear her beg. "What do you want, Tzuyu-yah?" you murmured, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Tell me." She whined, her hips rocking back desperately, trying to chase her release. "F-fuck me harder—please—"

You obliged, your hands tightening on her hips as you snapped forward, your cock pounding into her with brutal precision. Tzuyu screamed, her body locking around you as she came, her orgasm ripping through her with violent intensity. And when you followed her over the edge, your release spilling deep inside her, she collapsed against the couch, her body trembling from the aftershocks.

You caught her before she could slide to the floor, your arms wrapping around her waist as you pulled her close, her back pressed to your chest. She melted into you, her head lolling against your shoulder as you pressed kisses to her damp skin. "You okay?" you murmured, your voice rough but gentle. She nodded, her fingers tangling with yours as she brought your hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Mmm… better than okay."

Tzuyu's fingers still traced lazy circles on your chest, her touch feather-light and teasing. The way her lips curled into that mischievous smirk—so unlike her usual composed, elegant self—made your breath catch. She was playful, bold, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of challenge and amusement as she watched your reaction.

"What?" she murmured, her voice dripping with faux innocence as she dragged her nails down your stomach, stopping just above where your cock lay half-hard against your thigh. "You look surprised." You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I just…" Your fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear as you studied her—the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips were still slightly swollen from earlier. "I didn’t know you could be this naughty."

For a second, her smirk faltered. Your words—spoken with such open admiration—seemed to catch her off guard. The teasing glint in her eyes flickered, replaced by something softer, shyer. Her fingers stilled against your skin, and suddenly, she wasn’t the bold, demanding vixen from moments ago. She was Tzuyu again—the Tzuyu who got flustered when complimented too directly, the Tzuyu who hid her face in her hands when the members teased her.

Her gaze dropped, her lashes fluttering as she bit her lower lip. "I…" She hesitated, her voice suddenly small. "I didn’t mean to be too much." Your heart squeezed. God, she was adorable. One second, she had you wrapped around her finger, and the next, she was blushing over it. You cupped her cheek, tilting her face up to meet your eyes. "You weren’t," you assured her, your thumb brushing over the apple of her cheek. "I love when you’re like this. When you’re… confident." Her breath hitched, her eyes searching yours—as if she couldn’t quite believe you meant it. Then, slowly, a shy smile tugged at her lips. "…Really?" You grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Really."

She giggled—a soft, girlish sound—before burying her face in your neck, her arms winding around your waist. You could feel her smile against your skin, the way her body relaxed into yours. And just like that, the moment shifted. The air between you wasn’t charged with lust anymore—just warmth, affection, the kind that made your chest ache. But then her fingers danced lower again, her touch light, testing—and when you groaned, she laughed, the sound bright and triumphant. "…So," she murmured, her lips brushing your ear, "does that mean I can be naughty again?" You groaned, tipping your head back against the couch as her hand wrapped around you, her grip firm, knowing. Yeah. You were doomed.

The moment Tzuyu's hands fisted in your shirt and yanked you upright, you barely had time to process the sudden movement before her legs were wrapping around your waist, her bare thighs squeezing your hips with surprising strength. A startled yelp escaped your lips as you instinctively braced your hands under her ass, her weight settling against you as she clung like a koala—her lips already seeking yours in a messy, impatient kiss.

"Tzuyu—!" you gasped against her mouth, your voice equal parts exasperated and fond. But she just giggled—that breathy, mischievous sound that always meant trouble—and ground her hips down against yours, the slick heat of her already making your cock twitch back to full hardness.

"Carry me," she demanded between kisses, her teeth nipping at your lower lip. "Fuck me like this. Please."

you pushed into her in one smooth, deep stroke. The angle was unreal—her legs spread wide around your hips, her body stretched open as you filled her completely. Tzuyu arched off the wall with a sharp cry, her head falling back as her walls fluttered around you, adjusting to the sudden stretch.

You paused, your forehead dropping to hers as you both caught your breath. Her panting breaths fanned across your lips, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings against her flushed cheeks. Up this close, you could see every tiny freckle dusted across the bridge of her nose, the way her pupils were blown so wide her irises were nearly swallowed by black. She was beautiful—wrecked already, and you'd barely even moved.

"Okay?" you murmured, your thumb brushing over her hipbone in slow, soothing circles.

She nodded frantically, her fingers tightening in your hair. "M-move—please—"

You obliged, pulling out almost completely before snapping your hips forward again, the force of it driving her harder into the wall. Tzuyu yelped, her legs tightening around you as you set a brutal pace, each thrust jolting her higher up the wall. The sound alone was filthy—the wet slap of skin on skin, her gasping moans, the way the wall creaked slightly with every impact.

And the feel—God, the feel of her.

Her walls clenched around you in rhythmic pulses, her body milking you with every inward stroke. Her breasts bounced with each movement, her nipples pebbled and begging for attention. You ducked your head, capturing one in your mouth, your tongue flicking over the stiff peak as she sobbed above you.

"Y-Y/N—! Ahh~!" Her back arched, her thighs trembling around you as her orgasm crept up on her. "I-I'm gonna—hnngh~!"

You groaned around her nipple, your hips stuttering as her walls fluttered around you. But you held back, focusing entirely on her pleasure, on the way her body tightened, on the broken little noises spilling from her lips.

When she came, it was with a scream—her body locking around you, her nails scoring down your back as she shook in your arms. You held her through it, your thrusts turning shallow, gentle, prolonging her pleasure until she was whimpering from overstimulation.

Only then did you still, pressing her firmly against the wall as you both panted, your foreheads resting together.

And as her dazed, sated eyes met yours, you knew—

You'd do anything for her.

Tzuyu's back arched as her palms flattened against the cold surface of the production room table, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth metal edge. The shift in position made her gasp—her legs still locked around your waist, but now her upper body was braced against the table, giving her just enough leverage to rock her hips at her own pace. You could feel the tremors running through her thighs, the way her inner muscles fluttered around your length as she adjusted to the overwhelming fullness. Her breath came in short, uneven pants, her lips parted in a silent 'O' as she experimentally rolled her hips, testing the angle.

"S-slow…" she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyelashes fluttering like delicate butterfly wings against her flushed cheeks. "It's too… ahh~… too much right now…"

You immediately stilled, your hands moving to cradle her hips, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the dip of her waist. The way she looked in this moment—her usually pristine hair tousled and sticking to her damp forehead, her lips swollen from kisses, her chest rising and falling rapidly—it made your chest ache with something far deeper than lust. You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, tasting the salt of her sweat on your tongue.

"Take your time," you murmured against her skin, your voice rough with restraint. "However you need me… I'm here."

She exhaled shakily, her fingers flexing against the table as she began to move—tiny, experimental rolls of her hips that gradually grew more confident. The drag of your cock inside her was exquisite, the wet heat of her almost too much to bear. You bit back a groan, your forehead dropping to her shoulder as you let her set the rhythm, your hands remaining gentle but firm on her waist, guiding but never forcing.

The production room around you was silent save for the sound of your mingled breathing and the occasional creak of the table as Tzuyu shifted. The overhead lights cast a soft glow over her skin, highlighting the sheen of sweat along her collarbones, the way her small, perky breasts bounced ever so slightly with each shallow thrust. They were perfect—not overly large, but beautifully shaped, the pink nipples pebbled and begging for attention. You couldn't resist leaning down to capture one in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the stiff peak as Tzuyu moaned, her back arching off the table.

"Y-Y/N—!" Her hands flew to your hair, her fingers tangling in the strands as she pulled, her hips stuttering. "T-that's—ahh~!—too sensitive now…!"

You released her with a soft pop, grinning up at her through your lashes. "But you taste so good," you teased, your voice dripping with affection. "Like honey and salt… perfect."

She whined, her cheeks flushing an even deeper pink at your words, but her hips didn't stop moving—if anything, they grew more desperate, her thighs tightening around your waist as she sought more, deeper.

As much as you wanted to let her take the lead, the feel of her—her tight heat, her trembling thighs, the way her walls clenched around you with every tiny movement—was pushing you dangerously close to the edge. Your fingers dug into her hips, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you fought to hold back.

"Tzuyu…" you warned, your voice strained. "I'm close… so close…"

Her eyes—dark with lust but still so clear, so trusting—met yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Then, with a suddenness that stole your breath, she pushed against your chest, her legs unwrapping from your waist as she slid off your cock and dropped to her knees in front of you. You barely had time to process what was happening before her small, delicate hands were wrapping around your length, her fingers just barely meeting around your girth as she began to stroke—fast, firm, her thumb swiping over the leaking tip with every upward motion.

"Ah-ah," she chided, her voice breathless but playful, her dark eyes glinting up at you through her lashes. "My turn."

Your breath caught as she leaned in, her pink tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe from base to tip, her lips wrapping around the head with a filthy pop. The contrast was staggering—one moment, she was a trembling, oversensitive mess beneath you; the next, she was devouring you with a confidence that made your knees weak. Her free hand cupped your balls, her fingers massaging gently as she took you deeper, her throat fluttering around the tip in a way that had you seeing stars.

You groaned, your fingers tangling in her hair—not to guide her, just to feel, to anchor yourself as she worked you over with single-minded determination. The sight of her like this—Chou Tzuyu, the ethereal visual of TWICE, on her knees for you—was enough to send you spiraling. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, her tongue pressing against the sensitive vein on the underside of your cock, her moans vibrating through you like electricity.

And then, just as you were about to lose it, she pulled back, her hand stroking you rapidly as she tilted her face up, her lips parted in invitation.

"Come here," she whispered, her voice hoarse from use.

Your hips jerked involuntarily, your release barreling toward you with unstoppable force., your release coming down across her face in thick, pulsing ropes. The first stripe splashed across her cheekbone, glistening against her flawless skin. The second landed on her chin, dripping down toward her throat. The third—God, the third—painted her lips, her tongue darting out to catch the last drops with a smug little hum.

She looked ruined—her hair mussed, her face glazed with your cum, her eyes dazed but triumphant. And yet, she was still beautiful, still Tzuyu, still the girl who made your heart stutter with just a smile.

Someone really needed to give you the "Luckiest Guy on Earth" title.

"Pretty?" she asked, her voice lighter now, playful.

You choked on a laugh, your fingers trembling as you brushed a stray drop from her chin. "So pretty," you breathed, your voice wrecked. "The prettiest."

She beamed up at you, her nose scrunching in that adorable way it always did when she was happy, and in that moment, you knew—

You were the luckiest man alive.

[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.

[alexabowwow21]

THE REDBIRD OF THE GHOST KING

Danny Phantom x DC comics

Danny Fenton (Nightingale) x Tim Drake

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny is 20 (6'3, 190,5 cm) and Tim is 19 (5'7, 170,18 cm)

Danny gets a scholarship from the Martha Wayne Foundation after sending a picture of one of his inventions. He has money after defeating the ghost king Pariah Dark, but most of it is cursed, and takes time to undo everything. Uses the money for his apartment, necessities, and parts for projects.

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY - Aerospace

Tim Drake a year later after getting Bruce from the Time stream notices he is getting in the way of bonding. His insecurities also tell him no one loves or needs him in this family. ( Dick's and Steph's betrayal also hurts still) Better go. Enrolls himself in Gotham U.

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY - Business and then change to Forensics studies thanks to Danny.

One day in the school cafeteria a food fight broke out. Danny saves Tim by taking a pie into his face. Tim drags Danny to the bathroom. They locked eyes, love at first sight. ''Pretty boy''

They start hanging out. Tim tries to ask Danny out. Danny just kisses him under a big tree close to the campus. Started dating after that.

Danny joins the American football team Nighthawks after talking to Tim.

People be calling them Mister and Mrs Nightingale. Gets them all blushy.

Tim becomes friends with the cheer squad. Well, they adopted him after Danny became part of the football team. Tim is slowly getting better under the positive energy surrounding him.

Danny is the star quarterback after winning and proving his skills on the field.

They have been dating for 9 months, and Tim can't believe it is been so long without any setbacks from anyone. The other shoe drops.

'' I spoke too soon.''

Tim is getting more and more distant from the family. Red Robin starts to fly solo more often than usual. The batfam doesn't notice the rift between them, after all, Tim has always been independent. Until Scarecrow got out and everything popped like a balloon.

Tim starts to make plans to get Danny to move in with him after the chaos has settled down. He is Red Robin, Tim Drake, he can do anything! What if there is chaos, Danny is here and he isn't leaving. Also, Tim Nightingale does have a nice ring to it.

'' Wow, so many secrets that house caught on fire'' - Danny

'' What house?''- Tim asks confused

'' The house I saw blueprints off on your desk.'' - Danny

'' Not that house!!! That house was our family house, where Drake-Nightingale is supposed to happen after our honeymoon in haunted places of America.'' - Tim yells, running inside

Family house of Drake-Nightingale? Hold on Tim- Danny confused runs after Tim.

Hello! This is my first time writing a story. I hope you like it. This is actually not the full story, more like an idea I want to share with you people. I will start writing the story in full when I have time.

The title color was supposed to be yellow to symbolize a mix of both Tim's and Danny's colors together, but it doesn't have it.

Thanks and I hope you like and enjoy the text.

[tokeposts]

all this time | t. todoroki

1k | Meeting Touya at a party years after high school was purely chance, but everything that followed afterwards seemed like fate.

back | masterlist | next

The party is in full swing, music pulsing through the house as people move about with drinks in hand, random laughter and voices mingling with the thrum of the bass. Touya stands alone in the kitchen, nursing a half-empty Solo cup, the condensation cool against his fingers. He leans against the counter, his usual smirk nowhere to be found, replaced by a frown tugging at his lips.

His thoughts are hazy— a combination of alcohol and something sharper, something harder to ignore. It’s not just the drinks making him feel this way.

No, you slip in a while ago, a quiet commotion in your own right. The way you carry yourself— effortless, magnetic— still turns heads, still commands attention without even trying. Your laugh floats above the music, light and easy, a stark contrast to the thorns tightening around his throat.

It’s been years. Years. He’s 23 now, for god’s sake, and yet in this moment, he feels like the awkward high schooler he used to be, fumbling for words he never had the courage to say. Seeing you again has him spiraling, a strange mix of nerves and longing crashing into him. It makes his throat tight and his chest ache.

Back then, he’d heard the rumors— people whispered that you might have liked him. He hadn’t believed them, of course. How could you, of all people, be interested in him? The boy who stuck to his close-knit group of misfits, spent Friday nights dying his hair and practicing his eyeliner.

And yet… there had been moments. Moments that felt like more than coincidence. Lingering glances across crowded hallways. The brush of your hand against his during group projects. The way your voice softened, just slightly, whenever you said his name. He should’ve known. Secretly, he had hoped.

But he’d convinced himself it was all in his head.

And then came that night.

It was the final hoorah as seniors— the last chance to say goodbye before everyone went their separate ways. The loud music thumped, red Solo cups were passed around, and somehow, the two of you found yourselves in a quiet corner of the house. He remembers the eye contact, the soft laughter, how you’d smile at every sarcastic remark he made, only to shoot back with a clever retort of your own.

Then, you grinned, wrapping your hand in his and leading him upstairs. Standing in the doorway of some random bedroom, you locked eyes with him. There was no mistaking the look in your gaze: the smirk, thick with unspoken tension— an invitation meant only for him.

In that moment, everything clicked into place. The ‘subtle’ compliments about his eyes, the way you’d let only him copy your homework, the invites to join you on the rooftop for lunch.

You felt it too.

And it made him want to throw up. No— he didn’t follow. Instead, he stayed behind, heart pounding in his chest, convincing himself to walk away from what might have been his only real chance.

And by the time Toga had finally talked some sense into him, you were gone.

“Touya?” Your voice pulls him back to the present. “Wow, it’s been so long.”

You stand in front of him, a small smile tugging at your lips, teasing yet familiar. The years have only made you more captivating, and he hates how easily you can disarm him.

“You here alone?” you tease, tilting your head. You busy yourself by opening the fridge, lazily scanning the contents inside. No shocker that it’s filled to the brim with cheap booze. The fridge light frames your features perfectly, and for a second, his brain goes blank. “Didn’t peg you for the party type.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, trying to shake off the weight of his memories. “Yeah, Keigo’s here… somewhere.”

He swishes his cup again, looking anywhere but in your eyes. You lean in, your voice dropping to a low murmur. “Keigo.”

He doesn’t like how the name rolls off your tongue so easily. He hates even more when your lips curl into a knowing grin. “Oh, the blond one, right? Captain of the hockey team?”

Touya nods, not wanting to test his luck by speaking. No, he’s too afraid he’ll give everything away. That somehow, you could just tell he’s simmering in self-pity, just by speaking.

You always had a way of simply knowing him, after all.

There’s a moment of silence. His blue eyes dart anywhere but at you. It’s so unlike him that you chuckle, dry and tense. The Touya you remember was quite the chatterbox, never hesitating to let his opinions be known, especially about things he was truly passionate about. The soft sound makes him sigh and clutch his drink even tighter—out of nervousness, maybe? He doesn’t know.

You sigh. “Y’know, you’ve been staring at me all night.”

Touya’s breath hitches. It’s been years. You’ve changed in all the places that matter— your smile brighter, your words bolder. Six fucking years, and you seem like an entirely different person. He chuckles.

This is it.

Another chance.

“Been thinking about stuff,” he admits, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “’Bout some things back in high school.”

Your eyes search his, the playful edge fading. “That so?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. “I should’ve… I should’ve gone with you back then.” His voice cracks, mentally cursing the alcohol. If you noticed his nerves, you’re doing a damn good job at hiding it. He clears his throat, swishing his drink once more. “I knew what you wanted, but I convinced myself that you couldn’t possibly…”

You’re quiet for a moment, then smile—a real, genuine smile. “Well,” you say, stepping closer, “you’re not in high school anymore, Touya.”

His pulse quickens as your hand brushes against his, your fingers lightly tracing the back of his hand. He remembers the party when you were seniors—deja vu.

“No,” he murmurs, his voice steady now. “We’re not.”

The tension between you crackles, years of unspoken words and missed chances hanging in the air. This time, he’s not going to run. You’ve changed, and so has he.

“Come with me,” you say, your tone leaving no room for argument.

And for once, he didn’t hesitate.

notes. heavily inspired by more than friends by quin xcii. also merry christmas here's loser boy touya idk 😭

taglist: @commonmisery @nobodybutnnoorr @jastoo46 @jkovlr @bun-raine @beckixwsm

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ cloud nine. ✦ 」

Mattheo riddle x reader [part2]

Summary: The "jinx girl," as they call her, is said to bring bad luck. However, when Mattheo Riddle decides to get to know the school's most neglected girl and takes matters into his own hands, Y/N's life is turned upside down in a mere night.

Warnings:fluff,smut, angst

Words: 11.2k

The whispers followed me like a shroud, a constant murmur that swirled around the edges of my existence. "The jinx girl ," they hissed, punctuated by snickers and pointed fingers. Bad luck, they believed, clung to me like a second skin, a misfortune I carried wherever I went.

Hogwarts, a place that promised magic and wonder, had become a labyrinth of avoidance. Empty seats flanked me in Potions, desks strategically moved away in Charms, and hushed conversations abruptly stopped when I entered the room. I was a pariah, a freak, the girl who supposedly brought misfortune upon anyone who dared come close.

Every dropped potion, every sprained ankle, every lost Quidditch match - all blamed on me, Y/N Y/L/N, the harbinger of bad luck. Hogwarts, once a dream, had become a prison. Even the ghosts seemed to cower at my presence.

Professor Flitwick, a whirlwind of energy and charm despite his diminutive stature, announced a project for our Charms class.

"Partnering up for a Conjuring Extravaganza!" he squeaked, his voice a high-pitched melody. "Showcase your enchanting skills with a partner of your choosing!"

The room erupted in excited chatter, students scrambling to find their partners. I, however, remained rooted to the spot, a familiar ache twisting in my gut. Who would want to pair up with the cursed child? As if sensing my despair, Professor Flitwick's bright blue eyes twinkled in my direction.

"Don't worry, Miss Y/L/N," he chirped, "there's always a perfect match for everyone!"

His words offered little comfort. The pairings continued, each giggling duo a stark reminder of my isolation. Just when I resigned myself to another solo project, a voice cut through the din.

"I'll pair with Y/L/N ."

The classroom fell silent. Heads swiveled in unison, disbelief etched on their faces. It was Mattheo Riddle, the Slytherin prince with a reputation as sharp as his intellect .

Professor Flitwick, however, beamed like a firework had gone off in his tiny fist. "Excellent choice, Mr. Riddle!"

My jaw dropped. Mattheo Riddle? Partnering with me ? the jinxing girl ? It was as unexpected as a dragon hatching a pixie. A ripple of surprised murmurs coursed through the class. Did he just volunteer? Was this a cruel joke?

stole a glance at Mattheo, half expecting a smirk or a sly wink that would shatter the illusion of kindness.

But instead, he met my gaze with a genuine, albeit hesitant, smile. It was a rare sight on his usually stoic face, a flicker of warmth that sent a jolt through me. He sauntered over, his confident stride somehow softened as he approached me.

"Fancy working together, (Y/N)?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. It was the first time he'd ever addressed me directly, to talk to , and the informality sent a wave of heat rushing to my cheeks.

"I... I uh, sure," I stammered, still struggling to process the situation.

Professor Flitwick launched into the specifics of the project, outlining the different magical creatures we could try conjuring. Mattheo, however, seemed more interested in me. He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper.

"So," he began, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "what kind of magic are you most comfortable with love ?"he said, pulling up a chair next to me.

My heart skipped a beat. No one had ever used that term – "love" – with me before. It was a small word, but in that moment, it felt like a lifeline thrown across the chasm of isolation.

A hesitant smile tugged at my lips. "I, uh, I'm actually quite good with summoning charms," I confessed, surprised by my own boldness.

His smile widened. "Excellent," he said, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm more of a transfiguration specialist. We could combine our strengths."

Combine our strengths? The thought of working alongside Mattheo, of learning from him and maybe even teaching him a thing or two myself, sent a thrill through me.

A comfortable silence settled between us as we delved into the project details. Professor Flitwick's lecture faded into background noise . Mattheo surprised me with his easygoing nature, his sharp intellect tempered with a dry wit that made me laugh, a sound that felt foreign escaping my lips.

Finally, Professor Flitwick called out the end of class. "Alright, class! Dismissed! Remember, be creative, be precise, and most importantly, have fun!"

My heart still hammered in my chest, a mixture of trepidation and a strange, exhilarating thrill. Mattheo gathered his books, and as he turned to leave, he caught my eye “ see you around Y/L/N “

The crisp autumn air sent a shiver down my spine as I settled onto the worn wooden bench in the school gardens. pulled out the book I burrowed from the library earlier , determined to bury myself in its intricacies and forget the entire debacle.

The rhythmic crunch of gravel on the path drew my attention. I glanced up, bracing myself for another encounter with Pansy and her posse, only to find Mattheo approaching. His expression was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and something I couldn't quite decipher.

He stopped a few steps away, a silent question hanging in the air. Surprised, I stammered, "M-Mattheo? What are you doing here?"

A hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice softer than I was accustomed to hearing from him.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Was this real? "I, uh, sure," I managed, gesturing to the empty space beside me.

He sat down, our shoulders brushing slightly. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words. Stealing a glance at him, I noticed his gaze fixed on the book in my lap. "Studying for the Charms exam?"

I shook my head. "Actually, this is more of a personal read. It's about obscure magical creatures."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh? Intriguing. Anything interesting?"

Hesitantly, I explained the book's exploration of Fae lore, their connection to emotions and the delicate balance they maintained with the human world.

To my surprise, Mattheo listened intently, occasionally asking insightful questions that sparked further discussion. We delved into the complexities of Fae magic, debated the ethics of human interaction with these mythical beings.

A playful glint flickered in his dark eyes, and a hint of a smile danced on his lips as he listened to my passionate explanation of Fae lore.

"Why – why are you smiling like that?" I asked hesitantly

"You just look so passionate about it," he explained, a genuine smile gracing his features.

"Actually, it’s totally my uncle fault he was the one who got me into it," I confessed, a fond smile playing on my lips. "He used to read me Fae tales before bed when I was young. Now here I am, analyzing their magical properties."

"Are you close with your uncle?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Yeah, very close," I replied, then hesitated, a shadow crossing my face.

He picked up on the shift in my mood. "Everything okay?"

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the question that had been gnawing at me since the library. "Why are you doing this, Mattheo? Is this a dare or something?"

He frowned, genuine confusion etched on his face. "Why would you say that?"

"You know," I rambled, gesturing at the empty garden around us. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid of what?" He tilted his head, his dark eyes holding a hint of amusement.

My breath caught in my throat as he reached out, a playful glint in his eyes. He brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, sending shivers down my spine. "Me?" I whispered, barely a breath escaping my lips.

He smirked, amusement flickering across his face. "You look pretty cute to even scare a fly, love. Why should I be afraid of you?"

His words, laced with a hint of flirtation, left me speechless. His touch, light as a feather, lingered on my cheek, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"You don't understand," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Look at the garden, no one is here because I'm here. They believe... they believe —"

He cut me off before I could finish my frantic explanation. "But I'm here, aren't I, love?" he said, his voice a husky murmur. My heart pounded like a drum solo, the world around us seeming to fade away.

"You shouldn't be," I managed, my voice small and breathless. "I don't understand why."

"I'm not playing games with you, I promise," he replied, his voice firm. I hesitantly nodded, closing my eyes as the weight of his words settled upon me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, a heavy sigh escaping my lips.

"Don't be," he said softly. "I understand. And you know what? I don't care what they say. And to be honest I don't even care if it was true..."

smiling , I looked up , meeting his gaze."So you're the first "

He leaned back, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "Let's just say," he began, his voice low and intriguing, "I know you weren't the reason Ronald broke his leg before the last Quidditch match."

A surprised laugh escaped my lips."And," he continued, his smile widening, "I also know that the explosion in Potions last year was entirely Harold's fault, not yours."

I burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet garden. The weight of the whispers seemed to lift with each peal, replaced by a lightness I hadn't felt in years

"You were just there, like everybody else," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "So why would you take the blame for that?"

He leaned forward, his face so close now that my laughter subsided, replaced by a nervous flutter in my chest. "You know what they say about what happened in first year," I began, voice barely above a whisper.

"It stays with you till your last," he finished the saying, his dark eyes holding mine. A grateful smile tugged at my lips.

"So when Charlie from down the street brought the rumors from our neighborhood to school, and then spread that story about me jinxing Seamus during his first Quidditch practice.. and let's just say Neville's unfortunate Gillyweed incident didn't help my case too so a that everybody seemed to believe it ," I explained, finally voicing the truth I hadn't thought anyone would ever be interested in hearing.

"That's not fair," Mattheo said, his voice firm.

"Yeah," I sighed, "but as my Nana always says, some children are born with tragedies in their hands." A bittersweet smile crossed my lips. "And by some children, she means me."

"She sounds like a cruel woman," he muttered.

I laughed, a touch brittle. "If you think my Nana is cruel, you should've met my mother then."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them, a confession I hadn't meant to share. My cheeks burned with a sudden, hot shame. Mattheo, however, didn't seem repulsed. In fact, his expression softened further.

My voice trailed off, the weight of the past suddenly overwhelming. Sharing a secret like that felt like opening a wound I'd painstakingly hidden for years. The air hung heavy with unspoken words, the setting sun casting long shadows across the quiet garden.

"I-I think I should get going," I stammered, pushing myself out of the chair, my resolve shaky at best.

A cool hand gripped my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. My breath hitched as I turned to face him , his gaze a storm of emotions swirling within its depths "Don't run away yet."

My cheeks burned even hotter, but I couldn't seem to tear my gaze away from his. "I'm not running," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't release my wrist. Instead, his grip softened, his thumb gently stroking a soothing circle against my skin. The simple touch sent a shiver down my spine, a stark contrast to the cold isolation I'd grown accustomed to.

"Then can I interest you in some Butterbeer tomorrow evening?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful charm. "Three Broomsticks, perhaps? We could continue our discussion about Fae magic, or maybe you could tell me more about your Nana and your… interesting family history."

A surprised laugh escaped my lips. The idea of spending another evening with Mattheo, outside the confines of a school project, sent a thrill through me.

A smile, genuine and unrestrained, bloomed on my face. "I'd like that," I replied, my voice a whisper against the backdrop of the settling evening.

Sleep that night was a distant dream. The events in the garden replayed in my mind on an endless loop. Mattheo's hand in mine, the warmth of his touch lingering like a phantom sensation, his unexpected concern for my story – it all sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

The morning sun filtering through my dormitory window found me wide awake, staring at the ceiling with a tangled mess of hair and a giddy smile plastered on my face.

But then came the most agonizing decision of the day – what to wear? My trunk overflowed with the usual witchy robes, all shades of black and grey. None seemed appropriate for a… date? Was it a date? My cheeks burned at the thought.

Finally, I settled on a compromise. A dark green skirt that swirled around my knees, a crisp black blouse , and my trusty black boots. It wasn't extravagant, but it felt… me.

The walk to the Three Broomsticks was a mess a disaster as I was trying to figure out the right direction . As I pushed open the creaky oak door,I tried to breathe and calm my self down, My eyes scanned the room, searching for Mattheo amidst the bustling patrons.

And then I saw him, tucked away in a corner booth, a solitary figure amidst the chatter and laughter. Relief washed over me, followed by a jolt of something warmer as our eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he gestured for me to join him.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I walked towards him, a self-conscious fluttering in my stomach. Reaching the table, I slid into the booth opposite him.

his gaze lingering a beat longer than necessary on my face. "you..," he finally said, a low whistle escaping his lips. "You look..." he trailed off, searching for the right word.

My cheeks flushed a rosy hue . "I look?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "Radiant," he finished, his voice a husky murmur.

My breath hitched. No one had ever used that word to describe me before. "Radiant?" I repeated, a nervous laugh escaping my lips.

"Absolutely," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Though, I have to say, for a second I thought you weren’t coming “

“ oh I’m so sorry I was just trying to find the way I, uh, I've never actually been to the Three Broomsticks before," I admitted, hoping to deflect from his unexpected compliment.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Never? But it's practically a Hogwarts tradition!"

. "I guess I've been more focused on the library and…avoiding crowds."

A flicker of understanding crossed his face. "Well, consider this your official initiation," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Prepare to be overwhelmed by sticky tables, questionable singing."

The waitress returned with our drinks, placing them carefully on the table.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, momentarily shattering our peaceful bubble. A boisterous group of students, their laughter echoing through the room, flooded in. My stomach lurched as I recognized them – Charlie Spinnet , flanked by his usual entourage of Crabbe and Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, her face twisted in a sneer.

Unlike the usual sneer of Pansy Parkinson, Charlie's expression was a confusing mix of anger and… was that a hint of disappointment ? He locked eyes with me, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of something more complex in his gaze before it hardened back into a scowl.

Before I could decipher the meaning of it all, Pansy spotted us. Her voice, dripping with her usual malice, sliced through the warm bubble we'd created. "Look who is there," she drawled, directing a flirtatious smile towards Mattheo. "Hello there, Riddle."

Mattheo responded with his trademark icy drawl, "Parkinson. Always a pleasure."

She gave a curt nod before returning to her group. Charlie, however, didn't follow. His gaze remained fixed on me, an unsettling intensity in his eyes. I met his stare, a knot of unease forming in my gut.

"He's jealous," Mattheo said casually, leaning back in his seat. My jaw dropped.

"Jealous? Of what?" I stammered, completely bewildered.

"He likes you ," he replied with a knowing smirk.

A bewildered laugh escaped my lips. "He likes me ? Mattheo, the boy ruined my life" I interjected, my voice laced with a sharp edge. In truth, life hadn't been a cakewalk before Hogwarts either.

Just then, a loud shattering sound erupted from our table, sending shivers down my spine. My cup of butterbeer, which Charlie had probably targeted with a stray jinx spell , lay in pieces on the floor. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the pub as everyone turned to stare

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to control the spike of panic rising in my chest. This was exactly what I'd feared. when I opened my eyes again, my gaze met Mattheo's.

Unlike me, he wasn't angry. Instead, a mischievous glint sparkled in his dark eyes. he was smirking.

"So, you said this is your first time at the Three Broomsticks, love?" he asked, a playful smile on his lips as he stood up. I felt a pit forming in my stomach, unsure of where this was headed.

"Yeah," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Then let's make it unforgettable," he declared, his smile widening. He turned towards Charlie's table, his gaze locking onto Charlie's. Pansy, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and apprehension, suddenly looked terrified.

Mattheo strolled over to their table, a confident swagger in his step. Reaching down, he casually lifted Charlie's untouched butterbeer He held it out to me with a charming smile. "Here, love," he said, not sparing Charlie a glance.

Charlie watched the exchange, his jaw clenched. "Is there anything you want to say, Spinnet?" Mattheo asked, his voice deceptively calm. Charlie just shook his head.

"Do you like toads?" Mattheo asked again a question so out of place it left us all speechless.

"S-seems like I do," Charlie stammered, his voice barely a squeak.

"Good," Mattheo said simply.

Then, in a blink, it happened. A blinding flash of light erupted from Mattheo's outstretched wand, enveloping Charlie. Before anyone could react, the speechless Charlie had vanished, replaced by a , green toad hopping comically on the table.

My scream was lost in the cacophony of shouts and gasps. Pansy let out a bloodcurdling shriek, scrambling back in her chair. Crabbe, for once, looked utterly bewildered.

Mattheo remained calm amidst the chaos, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Ignoring the stunned patrons, he reached for his pocket and placed a couple of pills on our table.

"I would take him back to the castle if I were you," he said to Pansy with a chilling smile. "Unless you prefer the company of amphibians."

Pansy was speechless, her face pale with a mixture of fear and fury. All she could manage was a strangled, "Merlin's Beard!"

Turning back to me, Mattheo offered his hand with his usual nonchalant charm. "Shall we go, love?" he asked, his voice a gentle contrast to the chaos he'd just unleashed.

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, following the familiar path towards the Black Lake. Finally, we reached the water's edge, the gentle lapping of waves against the shore providing a soothing counterpoint to the earlier frenzy. Mattheo gestured towards a large, flat rock nestled under a willow tree. "Mind joining me?" he asked, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

I nodded, still processing the events of the evening. Charlie's transformation, Pansy's terror, it was all a bit surreal. Sitting down on the rock, I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

"So," Mattheo began, a playful lilt to his voice, "first date, and I turn your potential bully into a toad. Not exactly the charming introduction I was hoping for."

I glanced at him, surprised. "Date?" I stammered, a blush creeping up my cheeks.

His smile softened. "Well," he began, " we did ditch the project discussion for butterbeer and…, then turning someone into a toad… definitely not your typical Tuesday."

I couldn't help but laugh, My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I… I never thought…" I stammered, completely flustered.

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch sent shivers down my spine. "Neither did I," he confessed, his voice surprisingly soft.

"Thank you," I said, taking a deep breath, " it's the first time anyone has ever defended me like that. Not since my Uncle."

Mattheo's smile softened. "Well," he said, his voice gentle, "consider me your knight in slightly-unconventional-Slytherin-armor then."

I laughed a blush crept up my cheek

Silence descended between us, broken only by the gentle chirping of crickets and the lapping of the lake.

"You mentioned your Uncle," Mattheo said, his voice curious. "Tell me about him."

"He's a bit of a character," I began, a smile playing on my lips. "He travels the world, studying ancient magic. He's probably in some remote location right now, chasing myths and legends he’s so brave ."

"Sounds fascinating," Mattheo commented, his voice laced with genuine interest. "But you're not close with anyone else in your family?"

The question hung in the air, and I hesitated for a moment, unsure how much to reveal. But something about the sincerity in his eyes, made me want to share a part of myself I rarely opened up about.

"Well, I'm not exactly their favorite," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "You see, my arrival wasn't exactly... welcomed."

Mattheo's brow furrowed in concern. "What do you mean?" he asked gently.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged into the murky waters of my past. "My mother ,she found out she was pregnant with me. At the same time, she learned about my late brother's… illness. He died tragically, just two days before I was born."

"She… she blamed me," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "She believed I somehow took his place, that I was the reason he was gone."

He squeezed my hand gently, as if offering silent comfort.

"And your father?" he asked, his voice low and controlled.

"My father," I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "He said I stole his son's place. He never showed me any affection, always seeing a shadow of my brother instead of me."

My throat tightened, and I struggled to continue.

"But then there’s nana … well, she is a healer," I began, taking a shaky breath"She believed in a strange kind of balance. She used to say, 'A soul for a soul.'" A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled the chilling words. "'Sometimes,' she'd say, 'life takes one thing and gives another’. She just wished it had been my brother who lived."

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and serious. "That's a terrible thing to say to a child. None of that is your fault. You didn't ask to be born, and you certainly didn't cause your brother's illness."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. The weight of their rejection, the constant reminder that I was somehow unwanted, had always been a heavy burden to carry.

Then, with a tenderness that took my breath away, he brushed his thumb across my cheek, wiping away a stray tear. The simple gesture, so full of empathy and understanding, felt like a dam breaking inside me. The tears that I'd been holding back spilled over, flowing freely down my cheeks.

Mattheo didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. He simply sat there, his hand cupping my face, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that both scared and excited me.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "They don't deserve you , Not your mother, not your father, not sure your weird grandmother . They are blind to the incredible person you are."

His words, sincere and heartfelt, washed over me like a soothing balm.

"You are strong," he continued, his voice husky with emotion. "You are brave. You are kind. You carry the weight of their cruelty, yet you remain kind. That is a strength they will never possess."

His thumb continued to brush away my tears, his touch sending shivers down my spine.

As he spoke, the space between our faces seemed to shrink. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, his gaze holding mine captive. The air crackled with a tension that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Then, before I could even think to stop him, Mattheo leaned in closer. The world around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his hand on my face and the anticipation building within me.

His lips met mine in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a fleeting touch, barely a whisper, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through me.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. A nervous smile tugged at the corner of his lips.," is this your first kiss? “ he murmured, his voice husky.

A slow nod confirmed his suspicion , he leaned in again, this time deepening the kiss. This kiss was different – moving with a rhythmic dance that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, a blush crept up my cheeks. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo echoing in the quiet night.The taste of his lips lingered on mine, a sweet and intoxicating sensation that left me craving more.

"So," he said, his voice slightly breathless. "Forget everything I said about first impressions being unforgettable. Maybe this is a better way to start things off."

The next weeks unfolded like a whirlwind. Mattheo became a constant presence in my life, his shadow seemingly falling across mine with an uncanny frequency. Whether it was bumping into him "accidentally" on my way to Herbology, finding him "coincidentally" seated across from me in the library buried in the same obscure text on Fae magic, or him "miraculously" appearing just as I was leaving the Great Hall, it was clear he was making a concerted effort to be around me.

His tactics, though slightly obvious, were nonetheless charming. He started leaving small gifts on my desk – a fascinating book on Veela lore, a single perfect white rose

No one had ever gone out of their way to make me feel special before. Mattheo was doing just that, chip by chip, breaking down the walls I'd built around myself.

His "accidental" helpfulness extended to academics as well. He started leaving me beautifully illustrated books on ancient magic, conveniently "forgotten" on my desk. During Potions, he'd mysteriously materialize behind me just as I was about to accidentally add Flobberworm mucus to my Amortentia potion (a near disaster that could have had…interesting consequences).

One afternoon, while struggling with a particularly complex Transfiguration spell, Mattheo walked in on my frustration. He didn't laugh or poke fun,Instead, he sat down beside me, his patience as impressive as his knowledge. He explained the spell with a clarity I hadn't experienced before, his hand brushing against mine as he pointed something out on my parchment.

By the end of the week, I'd not only mastered the spell but found myself drawn to Mattheo in a way I hadn't before.

Mattheo's efforts extended beyond "accidents." He started introducing me to his friends. Theo and blaise ,Then there was Enzo, Mattheo's half-brother. With his playful demeanor and infectious laugh, Enzo made me feel welcome within their circle. I found myself enjoying their company, their camaraderie a stark contrast to the loneliness I had grown accustomed to.

One evening, while studying in the common room, , Enzo, sauntered over , He slid into the seat next to me, ignoring Mattheo's glare.

"Hey there, love," Enzo said, his voice dripping with a flirtatiousness that made me feel uncomfortable. "Studying hard?"

Before I could respond, Mattheo spoke up. "Enzo, perhaps you haven't noticed, but Y/N is busy."

Enzo simply chuckled. "Relax, brother. Just trying to be friendly." He leaned in closer to me

Enzo whispered, "He can be quite possessive, don’t you agree?" I couldn’t help but laugh, which was Mattheo’s last straw.

"Back off, Enzo," the words laced with barely contained anger , Enzo smiled and with a shrug and a playful wink at me, he sauntered away.

The most surprising consequence, however, was the complete absence of whispers. The rumors that had plagued me since childhood seemed to vanish overnight. Not a single snide remark, not a single pointed finger. The silence was deafening, and yet, strangely comforting.

Was it fear of Mattheo, or something more? Either way, I didn't question my newfound peace.

The stolen moments with Mattheo became a cherished secret language.

One particularly rainy evening, after a long and tedious double Potions lesson, Mattheo found me huddled in the deserted library, desperately trying (and failing) to decipher a particularly cryptic passage in a dusty old tome.

"Having trouble with the love language of Goblins, love?" he drawled, his voice a welcome sound in the quiet of the library.

I looked up, startled, my cheeks flushing at the sight of him. "Mattheo, you scared me!"

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Just offering my expertise in the finer points of ancient languages," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

He pulled up a chair next to me, the scent of his cologne filling my senses. As he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as he attempted to translate the passage, a spark ignited between us.

Emboldened by the privacy of the deserted library and the frustration of the Gobbledegook text, I turned to face him, my lips brushing against his ear as I pointed to a particularly confusing line.

Suddenly, the air crackled with unspoken desire. Mattheo's hand cupped my cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw. His gaze held mine, a storm brewing in its depths.

"There's another way to learn this language," he murmured, his voice husky with suppressed longing.

Before I could respond, he closed the gap between us. The kiss was different this time. It was slow, searing, filled with a raw emotion that sent shivers down my spine. It was a kiss that spoke not just of affection, but of a growing possessiveness, a silent claim on my heart.

We pulled away breathlessly, foreheads resting together. The quiet of the library thrummed with the intensity of the unspoken words hanging in the air.

"Maybe Gobbledegook isn't so bad after all," I finally whispered, a shy smile playing on my lips.

Mattheo chuckled, a deep sound that resonated within me. "Perhaps not," he agreed, his eyes lingering on mine for a beat longer than necessary.

One blustery afternoon, while seeking refuge from a sudden downpour in a hidden alcove near the greenhouses, we found ourselves alone. The air crackled with unspoken tension as we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, the rain drumming a steady rhythm on the stone walls.

He cleared his throat, his gaze flickering from my face to the storm raging outside. "This weather is something else, isn't it?" he said, his voice barely a whisper above the wind.

"Unpredictable, like magic itself," I replied, my own voice barely a murmur.

Suddenly, he turned to face me, his eyes a storm brewing within them. Before I could react, he cupped my face in his hands, his touch sending shivers down my spine. The space between us evaporated as he leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek.

"You're unpredictable too, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with something raw and primal. "In the best way possible."

And then, he kissed me. It was a kiss unlike any I'd ever experienced. It was fierce and passionate, filled with a yearning that mirrored my own.

I was hunched over a particularly dense text on Herbology, wrestling with the intricacies of magical plant growth, when a shadow fell across the page.

Looking up, I met Mattheo's gaze, a teasing glint in his dark eyes. "Lost in the world of Venomous Tentacula again, love?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

I swatted playfully at his hand, a smile tugging at my lips. "These Bulbadox Bulbs are more stubborn than they look," I grumbled.

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Maybe they just need the right touch," he murmured, his breath warm on my ear.

Before I could react, he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the offending passage. A jolt of electricity shot through me, my heart skipping a beat. He lingered for a moment too long, his touch sending goosebumps erupting across my skin.

"See?" he said, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sometimes understanding comes from a different kind of connection."

His words were a playful jab, but the intensity of his gaze held a deeper meaning. I felt my cheeks flush, a secret smile spreading across my face.

"Maybe," I replied, unable to tear my gaze from his.

The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Mattheo leaned in further. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a wave of warmth cascading through me.

It was a soft, lingering exploration. He trailed a finger down my neck, sending shivers dancing across my exposed skin. My breath hitched in my throat, and I leaned back into his touch, a helpless moan escaping my lips.

He chuckled against my skin, a low, throaty sound that sent a delicious tremor through me. "You should see the way you blush, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

My cheeks burned even hotter. This wasn't the stolen kiss under the moonlight, this was something more intimate, more raw. It was a secret shared between us, a confirmation of the growing connection that thrummed beneath the surface.

Suddenly, the library door slammed open, shattering the intimate moment. Madam Pince, the stern librarian, swept in, her beady eyes scanning the room. Mattheo and I both straightened up, a sheepish grin on his face.

"No hanky-panky in the Restricted Section, young man," Madam Pince barked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Mattheo, ever the charmer, flashed her a boyish grin. "Just helping a friend with her research, Madam Pince," he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Madam Pince narrowed her eyes at us for a moment longer before muttering something about "frivolous students" and disappearing behind a towering bookshelf.

As soon as she was gone, Mattheo let out a low whistle, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Looks like we've been caught," he said, a hint of regret in his voice.

I couldn't help but laugh, the tension broken. "Maybe we should stick to the Herbology section next time," I teased, butterflies still fluttering in my stomach from his touch.

He took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. "Maybe," he agreed, his eyes holding mine. "But who knows what secrets lurk in the Restricted Section?"

Suddenly, a voice broke through my concentration. "Y/N!"

I looked up to see Charlie Spinnet standing awkwardly in front of me, a hopeful smile plastered on his face. My stomach lurched, a flicker of unease coursing through me.

"Charlie," I stammered, unsure of what to say.

"Hey," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Before I could answer, mattheo’s voice cut in, laced with a dangerous edge.

"Actually, she can't," Mattheo drawled, His eyes narrowed at Charlie, a dark glint flickering within them.

Charlie gulped, his hopeful smile faltering. "M-Mattheo," he stammered. "I just wanted to…"

"Whatever it is," Mattheo interrupted, his voice low and cold, "it can wait."

The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. My heart hammered against my ribs, caught between the awkwardness of Charlie's unexpected presence and the possessiveness radiating from Mattheo.

"But—" Charlie began, but Mattheo cut him off again.

"No buts, Spinnet," Mattheo said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Now, if you'll excuse us,"

He took my hand possessively, his fingers wrapping around mine with a force that left no room for argument. Before Charlie could stammer another word, Mattheo practically dragged me away.

We walked in silence for a moment, the only sound our hurried footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. My cheeks burned with a mixture of annoyance and a strange sense of… satisfaction?

"Mattheo, that was a bit harsh," I finally said, breaking the silence.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. His gaze was intense, a storm brewing within its depths.

"He shouldn't have bothered you," he said, his voice low and possessive.

"He was just trying to talk to me," I pointed out, a hint of defiance creeping into my voice.

"And what exactly did he want to talk about?" Mattheo challenged, his jaw clenched.

"I don't know," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. "But I should have been allowed to find out, shouldn't I?"

Mattheo seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, his emotions flickering across his face. Finally, he sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away.

"Look," he said, his voice softer now, "I just… don't like the idea of someone else getting close to you."

My heart skipped a beat. Was he… jealous?

"Why not?" I couldn't help but ask, a teasing smile playing on my lips.

He hesitated – a rare sight that sent a thrill through me.

"Because…" he stammered, searching for the right words. "Because maybe you mean more to me than I care to admit."

The words hung in the air. A smile bloomed on my face, wider than it had in weeks.

"Is that so, Riddle?" I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He met my gaze, his eyes filled with a newfound vulnerability. Leaning in closer, he brushed a stray strand of hair from my face with his thumb.

"Maybe it is," he murmured, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to mine.

Before we could explore that maybe any further, a loud cough echoed through the corridor. We sprang apart, startled, to see a smirking Enzo leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

"Oh please don’t let me stop you ," he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Mattheo scowled, his usual bravado returning. "Get lost, Enzo," he snapped.

Enzo, unfazed, simply chuckled. "Just making sure you're not neglecting your studies, brother dearest," he said, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Professor Flitwick wouldn't be happy if he caught you missing his lecture because you can’t keep your hands to yourself those days "

My cheeks burned even hotter. "We weren't… ," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Enzo chuckled. "Whatever you say, sweetheart . But don't worry, your secret's safe with me." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Though, if you're looking for a more private place next time, I know a few hidden alcoves that are perfect for… well, you get the idea."

"Thanks, Enzo," I said smiling trying to get away from this conversation as fast as possible .

"Anytime," he replied, throwing a playful two-finger salute before disappearing back down the corridor.

Mattheo and I stared at each other for a long moment, the tension thick in the air.

"I think I need to go …" I began, unsure how to proceed “ see you at ummm….”

"...Great Hall," Mattheo finished my sentence, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment. Though his earlier possessiveness had surprised me, I couldn't deny a flicker of warmth at his reluctance to see me go.

"Yeah, the Great Hall," I confirmed, unable to meet his gaze for too long. The lingering confession, the stolen moment almost-kiss, hung heavy between us.

As I sank deeper into the worn armchair, a group of giggling Gryffindor girls approached, their chatter drawing my attention.

"Y/N!" Lavender Brown announced, her voice bright with excitement. "Did you hear? There's supposed to be a total lunar eclipse tonight!"

My heart skipped a beat. A lunar eclipse? A shiver of excitement ran down my spine. For the first time in years, I hadn't even been aware of such an event. But more importantly, they were inviting me.

Parvati Patil chimed in, her dark eyes sparkling. "We're all planning to gather near the lake to watch. It's supposed to be incredible! Are you coming?"

"I…" I stammered, unsure how to respond.

"Oh, come on, Y/N," Padma, Parvati's twin, nudged me playfully. "It'll be fun! We can all gossip and make wishes under the moonlight."

A lump formed in my throat. It was a simple question, but it felt monumental. An invitation to not just witness a celestial phenomenon, but to be included, to be a part of something.

For a moment, I simply stared at them, my mind struggling to process the shift. Was this real? Did they genuinely want me to join them?

"I don't know," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes. "Maybe…"

"Don't worry, Y/N," Lavender reassured me, sensing my hesitation. "It's up to you. But if you do decide to come, we'd love to have you."

With a warm smile, they turned to leave, their excited chatter fading as they descended the stairs. I watched them go, a wave of indecisiveness washing over me.

The rest of day went by quickly as I was still thinking about the invitation then mattheo I looked around searching for him

I spotted him by the courtyard, leaning against a stone pillar, his usual air of nonchalance masking a hint of concern. As I approached, he pushed himself off the pillar and met my gaze.

"Hey," he said, his voice laced with a question as his eyes scanned my face.

"Hi, Mattheo," I replied hesitantly.

"Everything alright?" he asked, his brow furrowed. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from my eye with a gentle touch .

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "There's a lunar eclipse tonight, did you know?"

He blinked, surprised by the abrupt change of subject. "A lunar eclipse?" he echoed.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Apparently, it's supposed to be the biggest one in years. Everyone's going down by the Black Lake to watch it."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Everyone, huh?" he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Well," I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush, "not everyone. But some people. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil invited me, and…"

I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Did I dare ask him to join me?

"And?" Mattheo prompted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"And," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes, "I was wondering… would you maybe want to come with me?"

The playful smile vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "With you?" he echoed.

I looked back up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yeah," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "If you want to, of course."

He held my gaze for a long moment, the silence stretching between us. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, warm and genuine.

"I'd like that very much, love ," he said, his voice a low rumble.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and pink, I made my way towards the Black Lake. The crisp autumn air buzzed with excited chatter as students from all houses gathered, blankets and snacks in tow, eager to witness the celestial spectacle.

A warm hand brushed against mine, sending a jolt through my system. Turning, I met Mattheo's gaze, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. He wore a casual smirk, but the way his hand lingered on mine spoke volumes.

he breathed, taking in the scene before him. "Didn't expect the whole school to be here."

I chuckled. "Apparently, lunar eclipses are kind of a big deal."

We weaved through the crowd, Lavender and Parvati waving to us over Theo , Enzo even Blaise was there too that was really unexpected . We settled in, surrounded by the cheerful chatter and laughter.

As the moon began to cast its silvery glow, a hush fell over the crowd. Everyone turned their eyes skyward, captivated by the gradual darkening of Earth's natural satellite. Mattheo, however, seemed more interested in me than the moon. His hand brushed mine again, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

Leaning closer, he whispered in my ear, his voice husky and warm. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

I nodded, unable to tear my gaze from his face. "It is," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to mine. Just as I thought he was about to kiss me, his voice dipped even lower.

"come with me. "

The surprise on my face must have been evident. "Where?" I stammered.

he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "Trust me, it'll be worth it."

We walked for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional rustle in the bushes. The air grew thicker the deeper we ventured, and a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of my excitement. Just as I was about to voice my concerns, Mattheo came to a stop in front of a section of gnarled oak trees, their branches intertwined in an almost unnatural way.

"Here?" I asked, eyeing the dense foliage with suspicion.

He smirked, his eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy. "Here," he confirmed, stepping forward and pushing aside a thick curtain woven from the very leaves themselves.

To my astonishment, a hidden passage unfolded behind the makeshift doorway. A narrow path, barely wide enough for two people, stretched into the darkness, illuminated faintly by glowing mushrooms that dotted the damp stone walls.

My initial apprehension warred with the budding trust I felt for Mattheo. Taking a deep breath, I gripped his hand tighter. "What is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Just trust me," he murmured, his touch surprisingly gentle.

We walked in silence, the air growing colder and the earthy scent more pronounced. The path eventually led to a sturdy wooden door hidden within the rocky wall. Mattheo pushed it open, revealing a sight that took my breath away.

It was a small, circular room, but its crowning glory was a large, arched window that took up most of one wall. Through it, the eclipse was on full display, the shadowed moon hanging in the inky black sky. But unlike the darkness of the forest, here, the view was clear and breathtaking

I breathed, my surprise echoing in the stillness of the night.

Mattheo chuckled, a hint of pride in his voice. "Told you it was worth it."

"This is…" I stammered, searching for the right words. "Amazing."

Mattheo smiled, his hand moving to brush a stray curl from my face. “We found this place a while back," he explained. "It's kind of a secret."

He pulled me towards the window, his arm wrapping around my waist, stood behind me , gazing up at the celestial phenomenon unfolding above us. The darkness, once menacing, now seemed like a vast, inky canvas upon which the eclipse played out.

"It's even more breathtaking from here, isn't it?" Mattheo whispered, his voice warm against my ear. , his words laced with something more than just the wonder of the eclipse.

I could only nod, my throat suddenly dry. The beauty of the celestial spectacle was undeniable, but it paled in comparison to the feelings Mattheo was stirring within me.

A warmth bloomed in my chest, a response that surprised even me. Mattheo's presence, so close and unexpected in this hidden haven, sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

As if sensing my shift, his arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the backdrop of the crackling fire.

Then, his lips brushed against my ear again. This time, the words were different. Softer, more intimate. "You're even more breathtaking," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down my neck.

My eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze reflected in the moonlight filtering through the window. The eclipse, forgotten for a moment, seemed to cast an ethereal glow on his features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Before I could form a coherent thought, his lips met mine. The kiss was tentative at first, a soft exploration that sent a wave of warmth through me. Instinctively, I reached up, my fingers finding purchase on his arm.

A contented sigh escaped his lips as he deepened the kiss, his hand finding mine and intertwining our fingers. The touch sent a jolt through me, a current of electricity that ignited a fire within.

When he finally pulled away, a breathless gasp escaped my lips. My cheeks burned, my heart hammered a wild rhythm against my ribs. A shy smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

His gaze never left mine.He leaned down again, his lips trailing a path of fire down my neck. He paused at a sensitive spot just below my ear, sending a jolt of pleasure through me.

Unable to hold back a moan, I arched my neck into his touch, a silent plea for more. His hand reached down, skimming the curve of my hip before settling lightly on my lower back as I felt the wall behind us

He was going to stop I know that he was going to hold back again "Wait," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. Looking into his eyes, I saw a storm of emotions – frustration, amusement. It was a look that made my heart skip a beat, a look that made me feel a dangerous mix of power and surrender.

"I want to " I stammered, unsure how to articulate the jumbled mess of emotions swirling within me.

"You sure?" he asked, his voice husky with suppressed desire.

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out, "I want this, Mattheo. I mean…I've never done this before, but I trust you. And I want it."

"Let's take things slow, alright?" He whispered softly in my ear and i nodded, his lips finding their way back to my neck, tracing over the mark he had just left behind.

"Mattheo," I moaned when he nipped at the same spot again, his teeth sharp and his lips unyielding.

"God my name sounds like heaven from your lips" he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

"Have you ever touched yourself, love?" His question caught me off guard, my breath catching in my throat as I shook my head. I had wanted to try but never mustered the courage.

"It's okay, my love," he reassured, his hands sliding under my top, caressing my skin with a tender touch that sent shivers down my spine.Then he gently pushed me up, settling me on the nearest table. "I'll take care of you."

Pressing more kisses to my neck, his hands moved to my hips, his fingers digging into my skin as he lifted my skirt slightly. "Is this alright?" he asked, his breath hot against my neck.I smiled at him and nodded again

“I’m going to touch you now, Just tell me when you want to stop, and I promise I’ll end it,” said with determination, his fingers brushing my cheek i nodded leaned forward to kiss him instead of just responding.

He did as he told , his fingers sliding into my pants proceeded slowly, finding my most sensitive spot, eliciting pleasurable sensations that made me arch my back and cling to him.

slowly rubbing circles around it. He used light pressure, but it felt amazing. His gaze intently watched my response, figuring out what i like.

He picked up the pace and pressure, sending pleasurable shocks through my body. my back arched as the ache between my legs increased. 

“God you’re so wet for me." he whispered, his voice filled with awe and desire. "Does it feel good?"

“ Yes , it feels so good.” I moaned softly, my voice barely audible as waves of pleasure washed over me.

"Can I?" he asked, seeking my consent.

"Yes, please," I begged, my desperation evident in my voice.

"It might feel strange at first, but I promise it will get better quickly," he reassured, and I nodded in agreement. With my consent, his finger slid between my folds, eliciting a soft moan from my lips. My hands found their way to his shoulders as I rested my head against them.

"Breathe, my love," he whispered, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of pleasure. I obeyed, inhaling deeply as a symphony of moans escaped my mouth, each one a testament to the pleasure coursing through my body.

"Mattheo," I moaned, his name a mantra on my lips.

"Yes, love. Talk to me," he encouraged, his movements slowing to allow me to catch my breath.

"There's something..." I tried to say, but pleasure engulfed me, leaving me speechless.

His lips found mine, his kisses distracting me from my thoughts as I succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure he offered.

"Just let go for me," he whispered against my lips, his breath igniting a fire within me that sent me spiraling into bliss.

His thumb applied pressure to my clit, sending electrifying waves of pleasure through my body. I gripped his shoulder tightly as he carefully added another finger, causing me to close my eyes in ecstasy.

"Don't close your eyes, love. Look at me," he urged, his voice filled with desire and a hint of command. I obeyed, locking eyes with him as his fingers found that specific spot inside me, unleashing a sensation I had never experienced before. It was so intense that I couldn't contain my scream of pleasure, feeling like I was soaring among the clouds.

He continued to target that spot, his gaze fixed on me as if he could read my every reaction. With a satisfied smile, he spoke soft words in my ear , reveling in my response.

His touch remained gentle yet firm, guiding me through the waves of pleasure until I reached the pinnacle, my body trembling in his embrace as I experienced a euphoric release unlike anything before.

"It's alright, I'm here," he murmured, his words a soothing balm as I surrendered to the pleasure that consumed me.

As I floated back to reality, I found myself in his arms, his gaze filled with tenderness and adoration. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a deep, passionate kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions.

"Maybe you mean more to me than I care to admit too , riddle," I repeated his earlier words. But what I truly wanted to express was that, ,I think I'm in love with you, Mattheo Riddle.’

From that night onward, everything shifted, and my life transformed into a fairy tale. The intensity of my feelings for him grew so profound that a day without seeing Mattheo felt like an eternity, leaving me yearning for his presence. He cherished me as if I were the most precious gem in his life, and to say that I loved him would be an understatement; my emotions ran deeper than mere words could express.

Despite our unspoken declarations of love, we refrained from exploring further sexual intimacy after that intense encounter. However, the desire and longing between us only grew stronger, leaving me yearning for more moments of intimacy with him. Each kiss, touch, and gaze across the room spoke volumes of the love we shared, even if the three words were never verbalized.

The end-of-year party hosted by Slytherin was a legendary affair, whispered about in hushed tones by those who had attended in previous years. Despite hearing countless tales about the extravagant festivities, I had never been tempted to go, for me, it had always been an off-limits fantasy , one I didn't dare to try and make true.

As the "jinx girl", stepping foot into such a renowned event felt like a risky move. The thought of facing judgment, scrutiny, and potentially being ostracized by my peers held me back from even considering attending.

However, in those few months everything changed. I found myself shedding my inhibitions and fears, stepping out of my comfort zone and embracing new experiences. The bonds I formed with other Slytherins grew stronger, and I even made friends outside of Mattheo's circle, feeling more at ease and confident in social settings.

The Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry was as legendary as the end-of-year party itself. This year, however, a shared misfortune had united the two houses in a grudging camaraderie. Professor Flitwick, bless his innocent heart, had stumbled upon Blaise Zabini and a very surprised Gryffindor tangled together in a rather compromising position in a dusty basement corridor. Let's just say, both houses lost a significant number of points, paving the way for Ravenclaw to snatch the coveted House Cup in a landslide victory.

So, as the day of the party approached, a thrill of anticipation danced in my stomach.

"Mattheo," I said, catching his attention as I approached him and his friends. He gently guided me to sit next to him, holding my hands with a tender touch

“ yes love ? “

"Are we… are we going to the party tonight?" I asked, trying to gauge his reaction.

He looked up, surprise flickering across his face. "The party?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You… you want to go?"

I felt a flicker of self-consciousness, but I held his gaze. "Yeah," I admitted.

“Honestly, Y/N," he said, "it's a bit… childish."

"Childish?" I repeated, surprised. "But everyone says it's a lot of fun!"

Enzo, chimed in with a shrug. "He has a point. It's mostly just first years causing mayhem."

There it was , that hesitation. Mattheo rarely said no to anything I asked.

He studied me for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. He glanced at Enzo, exchanging a silent communication that left me puzzled.I don’t really understand I know they used to go every year .

He looked at me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. Then, a slow smile spread across his face.

"Alright then love ," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "If you want to, then we'll go."

The Slytherin common room was a whirlwind of emerald and silver. Green streamers snaked across the ceiling, enchanted banners proclaimed Slytherin victory in various forgotten contests, and a cacophony of music and laughter filled the air. My heart pounded with excitement, a delightful mix of anticipation and nerves.

The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with laughter and music. Everyone seemed genuinely happy to have me there, chatting and mingling as if I had been a regular attendee for years.

However, what struck me as odd was how Mattheo and Enzo never left my side. It was as if they were guarding me, anticipating something that I wasn't aware of. Despite their usual easygoing demeanor, there was a sense of alertness in their actions that left me curious and slightly uneasy.

As the night progressed, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched, not in a malicious way, but more like a protective gaze. Mattheo and Enzo's constant presence by my side felt both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

I tried to brush off my unease and enjoy the party, engaging in conversations and joining in on the festivities. However, the nagging feeling that something was amiss lingered in the back of my mind.

It wasn't until later in the evening, when Mattheo and Enzo exchanged a meaningful glance, that I realized there was more to their protective behavior than met the eye.

Chaos erupted in the common room as Charlie Spinnet, stormed towards Mattheo. "Get her out of here now ," he growled, jabbing a finger in my direction. "Or I'll do it myself."

Before Mattheo could respond, the room fell silent. A Slytherin seventh-year, Adrian Pucey, stood on a nearby table, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hold on there, Spinnet ," he boomed, his voice cutting through the tension. "This year, we're doing something a little different… a play!"

A cheer erupted from the Slytherins, many of them eager for a change from the usual prank wars. Mattheo , however, remained unconvinced. He narrowed his eyes at Adrian, suspicion etched on his face.

As the play began, I couldn't help but notice the similarities between my name and the name of the girl portrayed in the story. It didn't take long for me to realize that the play was about a jinxing girl, and it described in vivid detail everything I had confided in Mattheo about my family and my troubled past at the lake that night.

Panic clawed at my throat. I stole a glance at Mattheo, but his face was a mask. He reached out a hand towards me, but I flinched back instinctively .

The room fell silent, every eye glued to me and the unfolding drama.

Onstage, the actress portraying me continued, her voice dripping with drama. "…driven by ambition, she stole her brother's place, but a terrible curse followed. Wherever she goes, misfortune befalls those around her. She's the jinx girl, a harbinger of bad luck!"

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Whispers erupted like flames, spreading fear and suspicion. I felt them scorching my skin, their judgment a suffocating weight on my chest.

Suddenly, a new scene unfolded on stage. A group of actors, portraying Hogwarts students, stood center stage. "Here's the dare," boomed one, a mock sense of bravery in his voice. "The boy who approaches the jinx girl and brings her to the party… wins!"

Suddenly, a commotion arose from the back of the room. Enzo and Theodore Nott , their faces grim, pushed their way through the crowd towards the makeshift stage. "Stop this!" Enzo said, his voice laced with fury. "This is out of line, Pucey!"

The actors scrambled off the stage, bewildered and slightly scared. The common room dissolved into chaos. Accusatory whispers turned into heated arguments. Pity and fear flickered in averted gazes. I even overheard someone mutter, "Did she really kill her brother?"

The roar of the party faded behind me as I sprinted down the Slytherin common room's hidden corridor, tears stinging my eyes despite my desperate efforts to hold them back. Mattheo's voice calling after me, pleading, only fueled my desperate need to escape.

"Y/N, please!" he shouted, but I ignored him, my feet pounding a relentless rhythm against the cold stone floor.

"Y/N!" he called again, his voice closer this time. Panic surged through me, lending me fresh bursts of energy.

Just as I reached the portrait leading out to the dungeons, a strong hand clamped onto my arm. I spun around, ready to lash out, but it was him – Mattheo, his face etched with a desperate worry I'd never seen before.

He tried to reach for my hand, but I recoiled violently. "Don't you dare touch me!" I screamed, my voice raw with hurt and betrayal.

He flinched, his hand hovering awkwardly in mid-air. "Y/N, love, just hear me out," he pleaded.

"Love?" I spat the word back at him, incredulous. "Don't call me that." The weight of everything that had just happened crashed down on me. The staged play, the public humiliation, the sickening realization that it had all been a dare.

"It's not what it seems like," he stammered, trying to explain. "I—"

"You what?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "It was all a lie, wasn't it? "

"No, no, I swear," he said urgently. "Everything that happened between us was real. My feelings for you…" His voice trailed off, his eyes pleading for me to understand.

But the damage was done. The carefully constructed trust – it had all crumbled to dust in the face of this cruel betrayal.

"Don't," I choked out, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. "Don't lie to me anymore."

A sob escaped my lips, and despite the anger burning within me, a part of me ached for the connection I thought we shared.

"Just give me a chance to explain," he pleaded, but I shook my head, unable to bear the sight of him anymore.

The truth, however distorted, was clear. "Wouldn't you deny it was a dare?" I challenged him, a flicker of defiance sparking in my tear-filled eyes.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. For the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine pain cross Mattheo's usually guarded features.

"No," he finally admitted, and I felt a wave of numbness wash over me.

As I turned to walk away, he continued, "It was at first, but I swear that from that night at the Broomsticks, everything was real. I even forgot about that stupid dare. Everything that happened between us was real, you know that."

I scoffed, wiping angrily at my tears. "I don't know anything anymore," I said.

"Foolish me. That's why you didn't want Charlie to talk to me that day, wasn't it? Because he was going to expose you?"

""No, Y/N, I just didn't want you to get hurt __“

"You what?" I cut him off again, my voice trembling with fury. "How generous of you," I said sarcastically. "But look, you win now, Riddle. Won't you go celebrate? It was their dare,"

"I don't care about anyone else but you," he said fiercely.

I stared at him, incredulous. "Then why does it feel like you care about everything else more than me right now?"

He took a hesitant step forward, but I didn't back away this time. I met his gaze head-on, my heart a tangled mess of emotions.

"I can't lose you," he whispered, his voice filled with desperation.

"You already have," I said, the words like shards of glass in my mouth. I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain I was experiencing.

"I ___ i love you," he confessed, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Love. The very word felt like a mockery.

I looked him straight in the eye, my voice surprisingly calm despite the storm raging within me. "And I hate you, Mattheo Riddle," I said, each word laced with the bitter taste of betrayal.

With that final declaration, I turned away, leaving him standing alone in the darkened corridor, the portrait swinging shut behind me.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅

[psychhound]

announcing spiritkeep: a therapeutic ttrpg

howdy all! some big announcements!!!

first, im nearing the end of my master's program, studying rhetoric and writing, games, and educational psychology. im about halfway done with my thesis, and figured it was time to make an announcement …

my thesis, entitled "designing ​spiritkeep​: therapeutically applied RPGs as a discourse community" is … about what it says on the tin :) in it, I look at the practice of TA-RPGs, which are TTRPGs run for the express purpose of inducing therapeutic growth. TA-RPGs are usually run by a clinician, like a therapist or counselor, or a certified therapeutic game master. my thesis is looking at the needs of therapeutic game masters as a community and asking … what do they need from TTRPGs that isn't currently available?

the thesis takes concepts from rhetoric, linguistics, game studies, literature studies, psychology, and more to ask the question … what would a TTRPG specifically designed for therapeutic use look like? i examine concepts like bleed, close to home characters, dramatic rehearsal, performative speech acts, fixed vs growth mindsets, information processing theory, and more. i also look at criteria set forth by current TA-RPG practitioners for what makes a good TA-RPG, and examine five current games against those criteria. then, i put together the research into a foundation for spiritkeep, a dedicated TA-RPG

spiritkeep is designed around the goal of helping teens and adults heal from complex trauma

that said, its perfectly suitable for a homegame as well, as long as everyone is on the same page and approaches it with the mindset of collaborative growth. all in all, it's still going to be a fun game and a good TTRPG!!

in spiritkeep, you play as a smalltown taskforce with the shared goal of restoring your currently struggling community to a thriving state. you go out on missions like finding resources, diplomacy with neighboring cities, researching ecological problems, and more, while you slowly make your town a better place to live. spiritkeep includes collaborative worldbuilding, a large assortment of playbook options like the Wayfarer, the Knight, the Ghost, or the Shepherd (all designed to hit where it hurts, at least a little!), and a brand new system inspired by PBtA, FitD, BOB, WoD, and more. while the game is designed around grappling with identity and learning how to grow, it can also get a bit tactical and crunchy!! the new dice mechanic makes you think on your feet with every roll

this announcement is also to say that i am beginning the initial crowdfunding of the game through itch. right now, im trying to raise funds to pay the fee to my school to make my thesis open access, meaning anyone can read it. then, remaining funds will go towards things like resources, consultants, art for the kickstarter, and everything else i need to get this project off the ground. ideally, ill be able to team with a publisher to cover the logistics of business while i can focus on the game itself. once the game is finished, there will still be plenty of playtesting, consulting, and other work to do. but!!! this post marks my first steps towards what has been my dream for years now

this sale is how im starting the funding process. it includes the zine preview of my thesis, covering my chapter outline and big concepts, and also my first TA-RPG: with breath & sword, a solo game to help players calm down from anxiety. both items have community copies available: please feel free to grab one if you can't contribute !!

questions, comments, or partnership offers can be sent to psychhoundgames @ gmail(.)com

thanks y'all!!! wish me luck!!!! 🥰🥰🥰

[favorvn]

Favor Feb into March Update

Howdy!

Another little monthly update~ Last month I had 15,259 dialogue blocks, containing 133,928 words as of now Favor has 19,879 dialogue blocks, containing 172,737 words

So in a month's time I wrote 34,000 words, that's a bit insane to think about lol. I'm getting really close to the end of having the whole thing written (Though I'm sure it will still be another 20k + words at least for the remainder of the game)

I'm really proud of myself, and I'm proud of the game so far. It's close to my heart and I'm super excited for everyone to play it and for those who understand it, to hear their feedback.

I also want to give a kind reminder to everyone who may not know, I work a full time job and I am literally working on this project with nearly every second of free time I get. I am a solo dev, I am not a team of people I am just one person doing everything. This project means a lot to me so I want it to be to my standard of quality which in my mind means that I need to write the whole thing (as I'm doing now and have been doing) all the way through so I can be sure the story is cohesive and as tight as it can be. Writing the whole story in one go takes far more time than writing each episode individually. I am also not a fast painter, every painting I do takes at least 10 hours, backgrounds taking double that usually. That being said, because of all of these things, I am not able to release updates as quickly as maybe other devs can, but I can assure everyone this project is still being worked on.

To the kind people on here who have been patient and encouraging: Thank you so much, I really appreciate your support and patience as this project develops. Your words of encouragement mean more than you know, especially in the moments where I get really burnt out over writing this thing lol.