Sidestory 2: "Tinkerbell’s Discipline"

The air inside the massive soundstage was incredibly thick, heavily perfumed with the sharp, chemical sweetness of industrial fog machines, clouds of aerosol hairspray, and the electric ozone scent radiating from a hundred blindingly hot studio spotlights. The set for TWICE’s “TT” music video was a masterclass in artificial wonder, a vibrant Halloween fantasy bathed in dark purples and vivid oranges. Yet, despite the playful atmosphere, the suffocating pressure of absolute perfection hung over everything like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

For Momo Hirai, the designated dancing machine of the group, that pressure was currently twisting her insides into frustrating knots.

She stood in her mark, the heavy heat of the overhead lights causing a thin, shimmering sheen of perspiration to gather along her collarbones. Her costume—a vibrant, bright green strapless dress constructed from layers of stiff, flowing tulle—felt restrictive. It was designed to mimic a fairy, specifically Tinkerbell. The sweetheart neckline gripped her chest tightly, adorned with small, delicate leafy decorations affixed to the bodice that scratched faintly against her heated skin every time she took a ragged breath. A high bun secured her light pinkish-brown hair, her signature full fringe perfectly styling her fair, porcelain face. Beneath the flowing green skirts, she wore tight safety pants, a standard protocol to hide what wasn't meant for the cameras.

But right now, the cameras weren't the problem. Her own body was betraying her.

The music pounded through the massive studio speakers. The catchy chorus hit, demanding the iconic choreography. Momo forced her hands up to her face, forming the crying “TT” gesture, and attempted to throw her hips into the sharp, rhythmic isolation the dance required. It was supposed to be effortless, snappy, and infinitely precise.

Instead, it was stiff. Uninspired. Heavy.

There was an intense, crushing internal pressure blocking her muscles from flowing. A relentless, pulsating distraction that had nothing to do with the steps, and everything to do with the incredibly vivid, wild memories looping continuously behind her dark, expressive eyes.

She let her gaze drift toward the backstage shadows. There, standing just outside the oppressive glare of the camera lights, was Jihyo, the formidable leader of their group. Jihyo was laughing, a bright, carefree sound that drifted over the heavy bass of the track. Her eyes were sparkling as she spoke animatedly to the towering, imposing figure beside her.

he was known intimately to those bold enough to cross the line, Y/N.

He stood at an intimidating 188 centimeters, a solid 90 kilograms of dense, ruthlessly honed European muscle encased in a black, sharply tailored Adidas tracksuit. His short, dark black hair was swept back, his piercing brown eyes locked onto Jihyo with an intense, predatory focus that made Momo’s breath catch painfully in her throat. As the group's dance trainer and primary bodyguard, his presence was a constant, heavy anchor in their chaotic lives. But lately, Momo had discovered his duties extended far beyond blocking crazed fans and correcting footwork.

The memory of the previous night hit Momo with the force of a physical blow, sending a rush of blistering heat straight to her core.

The TWICE dorm had been dead silent, cloaked in the heavy velvet of 3 AM. Momo had woken up thirsty, slipping quietly down the dark hallway toward the kitchen. As she passed the communal bathrooms, the sound of the shower running had caught her attention. It wasn't just the water, though. It was the wet, rhythmic, violent sound of flesh slapping relentlessly against flesh, underscored by heavy, guttural groans and the high-pitched, desperate begging of a familiar voice.

Momo hadn't been able to stop herself. The door had been cracked open just a sliver, the warm, damp steam leaking into the cool hallway. Through that narrow gap, she had witnessed absolute, unfiltered carnage. Jihyo had been pressed flat against the slick, wet tiles, her perfect, heavy breasts flattened against the cold ceramic while Y/N stood behind her, gripping her hips with massive, unforgiving hands. The dim emergency lighting had painted Y/N's rippling six-pack and heavily muscled thighs in sharp relief as he drove a spectacularly thick, ruthlessly massive cock into their leader.

Momo had stood there in the dark, paralyzed, her knees trembling so hard she had to brace herself against the wall. For almost half an hour, she had watched in transfixed, horrified awe as Y/N brutally reorganized Jihyo’s insides. She had heard Jihyo moan, cry, and shatter, begging for more, completely surrendering her massive responsibilities and her unending stress to the savage, primal pounding of his thick, European anatomy. He had practically owned Jihyo in that shower, using her with a raw, dominant entitlement that made Momo’s panties utterly soaked just watching.

It was clearly a profoundly intense form of 'stress relief.' How long had it been going on?(I mean, Momo doesn’t know, but ever since the first video shoot in 2015 for “Like Ooh-Aah,” Jihyo has been “using” Y/Ns stress-relief method [see Side Story 1, “The First Encounter”]). But ever since the realization hit her, she had felt an agonizingly heavy emptiness throbbing between her own thighs. She was stressed too. The choreography, the long hours, the endless diets. She desperately needed an outlet. She needed that weight to be crushed out of her.

A sharp clap echoed across the soundstage. The producer waved a rolled-up script in the air.

"Cut! Take ten, everyone! Jihyo, come here for a second, we need to discuss your blocking for the solo shot."

Momo exhaled a shaky breath as the heavy track abruptly cut out. Jihyo nodded obediently, offering Y/N a knowing, lingering smile before turning and jogging toward the camera crew.

Suddenly, Y/N was completely alone, leaning back against the cool, dark cinderblock wall in the shadows, his massive arms crossed over his broad chest. His brown eyes slowly panned across the brightly lit stage until they locked directly onto Momo. Even from twenty feet away, the intense weight of his stare sent a crackle of pure electricity straight down her spine.

I have to go over there, she thought, the sudden, intrusive impulse completely overriding her common sense. I want his stress relief. I want what she has.

Without a second thought, she stepped off the elevated stage. The rustle of her stiff green tulle skirt seemed deafening in her own ears as she crossed the studio floor. Her small, delicate heels clicked rhythmically against the concrete. The closer she got, the larger he seemed to grow, his 90kg frame completely dominating the dimly lit backstage corner. The air around him smelled incredibly intoxicating—a sharp, intensely masculine blend of fresh sweat, dark coffee, and clean laundry, undercut with an undeniable, raw, feral heat.

She stopped exactly one foot in front of him, tilting her head back to look up into his striking, sharply contoured face. She forced her expression into a pout, extending one perfectly manicured finger to poke the hard, unyielding muscle of his chest through the black nylon of his Adidas jacket.

"You’re staring," she accused, her voice dropping an octave, carrying the soft, musical lilt of her native Japanese accent blending smoothly with her Korean.

Y/N didn't move. He didn't even flinch at the physical contact. Instead, a slow, incredibly deep chuckle rumbled up from the vast expanse of his chest. It was a dark, vibrating sound that Momo felt tingling intensely in the very soles of her feet.

"I am your dance trainer, remember?" he replied, his deep voice heavily laced with the sharp, melodic cadence of his European accent. His Korean was solid, but occasionally, he paused, a momentary hesitation as his mind searched for the right vocabulary. It only made him sound more dominant, more deliberate. "It’s literally my job to judge your hip work. And right now, little fairy, your hips are as stiff as a frozen board. What’s the matter? Is the Tinkerbell dress too tight?"

His brown eyes flicked downward, taking in the way the vibrant green sweetheart neckline struggled to contain the full, soft swells of her C-cup breasts, heavily boosted by her invisible-strap bra. The heat in his gaze was palpable, scorching a path across her exposed collarbones and down her cinched waist.

Momo refused to back down. The slow burn of anticipation was a physical ache in her lower belly. She took a tiny half-step forward, closing the distance so completely that the stiff layers of her tulle skirt brushed intimately against the nylon of his track pants. She let her dark, heavily lined eyes drop intentionally, her gaze wandering hungrily down the massive breadth of his shoulders, tracing the muscular V-taper of his torso, before shamelessly lingering on the incredibly thick, prominent bulge straining the front of his sweatpants.

"Jihyo," Momo began, her voice dropping into a sultry, breathless whisper that barely carried over the ambient noise of the crew chatting feet away. "She handles the stress so well. The pressure. She has a way… a way to let it all go."

Y/N’s dark eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, but he remained completely silent, letting the heavy, suffocating silence stretch between them.

Momo’s hand moved slowly from his chest. Her trembling fingers brushed over the cool metal zipper of his Adidas jacket, tracing the teeth downward with excruciating slowness. "I saw her, Y/N. Last night. I saw how you… help her."

Instantly, the atmosphere between them fractured. The playful, detached demeanor Y/N had worn vanished, replaced in a split second by a slow, dangerously predatory smirk that spread across his handsome face. The muscles in his jaw ticked as his dark eyes darkened to the color of midnight. He knew exactly what she was playing at.

"Is that so?" Y/N murmured. The timbre of his voice had dropped into a terrifyingly low register. He leaned in slightly, his towering frame casting a massive, suffocating shadow over her petite body. "Jihyo is very… disciplined. She knows how to follow instructions."

Momo felt a hot rush of wetness instantly flood her tight safety pants at the veiled challenge in his words. Her breath hitched. Her fingers tightened on the hem of his jacket.

"I can follow instructions," she countered instantly, her chin jutting out in defiance. "Probably better than she can. I’m the dancing machine, remember? My body does exactly what it’s told."

She looked up through her full pinkish-brown fringe, offering him a sweet, painfully innocent smile that starkly contradicted the filthy heat radiating from her core. "I am so incredibly stressed right now, Y/N. My hips are frozen because of the pressure. I just wish… I really wish it would go away. I need to be relaxed."

Y/N stared down at her upturned face. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip. The predatory gleam in his brown eyes flared into a raging, uncontrollable wildfire. A slow, knowing, and utterly filthy smile curved his lips.

"Well," he breathed heavily, the sound practically vibrating against the sensitive skin of her face. A perfectly wicked, challenging smile ghosted across his lips. "I cannot refuse a sweet fairy’s wish."

Before Momo could even take a breath to process his words, Y/N’s massive hands snapped out, gripping her jaw and the back of her neck with undeniable, absolute authority. He crashed his lips down onto hers. The kiss was an explosive collision, a blinding flash of electricity that pierced straight through Momo’s chest, sending a violent shockwave of pure, liquid heat plummeting straight into her damp core. It was an incredible feeling—raw, dominating, and utterly overwhelming.

She opened her mouth with a soft, needy gasp, and his thick tongue instantly invaded, dancing against hers in a wet, dominating rhythm that tasted sharply of dark espresso and mint. Momo moaned into his mouth, her hands frantically sliding up his solid chest, boldly pushing under the cold nylon of his Adidas jacket and his thin undershirt. Her small palms met the scorching hot, rock-hard ridges of his perfectly defined six-pack. His skin was lightly dusted with a fine layer of sweat, the muscular landscape trembling under her desperate, roaming fingertips.

Y/N pulled back just an inch, his breathing ragged and heavy, his dark eyes entirely blown out with lust.

"Show me the 'TT'," he commanded, his deep voice thick with a rough, English-inflected snarl.

Momo’s mind was swimming, drunk on the taste of his mouth and the overwhelming scent of his arousal. Obediently, she brought her hands up to her cheeks, making the familiar crying 'TT' gesture, playfully wiggling her hips beneath the stiff green tulle.

Y/N let out a dark, filthy laugh, his heavy hands gripping the sides of her waist. "No, little fairy. I don't mean the dance. I want to see your 'TTs'."

Momo’s dark eyes widened, a thrilling flush of pure heat erupting across her fair face and spilling down her chest. The sheer brazenness of his demand, right here in the shadows just twenty feet away from the active, bustling film set, made her pussy clench violently, a hot slick of clear arousal spilling into her safety pants.

Her trembling hands moved from her face down to the vibrant green sweetheart neckline of her Tinkerbell dress. Without a second of hesitation, she hooked her fingers into the stiff tulle and her invisible-strap bra, pulling the restrictive fabric down. Her C-cup breasts sprang free, heavy, warm, and flushed with pale pink. They bobbed gently in the cool backstage air, her dark, tight nipples immediately peaking into hard, begging pearls.

Y/N’s dark brown eyes instantly devoured her bare chest. "They're not quite as massive as Jihyo’s," he observed, his voice dripping with blunt, unapologetic honesty. He reached out, his massive, calloused palms covering both of her exposed breasts completely. "But... they fit so perfectly in my hands."

Momo let out a sharp, breathless moan as Y/N gently but firmly began to knead her soft flesh. His rough palms rasped delightfully against her hypersensitive nipples, squeezing the plush, heavy mounds of her C-cups together before rolling the peaks between his thumbs and forefingers. The sensory overload was maddening—the sharp scratching of the tulle around her waist, the blinding heat of his hands, and the heavy, intoxicating throb between her legs.

Y/N leaned in, kissing her deeply again, his tongue tasting her desperate whimpers while he continuously played with her breasts. Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, his hands dropped from her chest to the waistband of his Adidas sweatpants. In one quick pull, he shoved the black track pants and his dark boxers down his muscular thighs.

Momo literally gasped against his mouth, her eyes snapping downward. There, springing free with an angry, heavy slap against his lower abdomen, was his cock.

It was terrifyingly beautiful. A fully engorged, massive 18-centimeter European weapon of pure muscle and throbbing blue veins. The thick, bulbous glans was already weeping a heavy tear of slick pre-cum, glistening under the ambient studio lights. Up close, his cock looked even bigger than it had in the dark shower with Jihyo. It radiated a blinding heat, twitching upward as if demanding to be worshipped. For a fleeting second, her brain calculated the massive girth of it, wondering how it would ever fit inside her tight, petite frame.

But the throbbing emptiness inside her was completely drowning out any sense of fear. The stress of the choreography, the pressure of the music video—she just wanted to be utterly dismantled. She needed to let off some steam.

"Oh my god," Momo whimpered, dropping entirely to her knees and letting her hands hover inches away from the burning, rigid length of his erection. She looked up at him through her light pinkish-brown fringe, her dark eyes entirely completely glossed over with sheer desperation. "Y/N... please. Please, just use me. Use me right now. Put it in."

Y/N’s smirk deepened into a feral snarl. He grabbed her by the upper arms, hauling her effortlessly to her feet. With a sudden, dominating surge of power, he spun her around and forcefully shoved her back against the freezing cold cinderblock wall. The sudden shock of the rough, icy masonry against her bare shoulder blades made her gasp, an incredible contrast to the blazing furnace of Y/N’s massive body pressing in against her front.

He didn't waste a single second. One massive hand bunched up the flowing, layered green tulle of her Tinkerbell skirt, lifting it up and pinning it to her waist. His other hand ruthlessly grabbed the waistband of her tight black safety pants and silk panties, violently pulling them down to her ankles in one swift motion, leaving her completely exposed to the chilled studio air.

He stepped directly between her thighs, using his heavily muscled knee to force her legs wide open. Momo felt the impossibly hot, thick head of his 18-centimeter cock brushing against her soaked, slick, and completely bare labia. She was dripping, heavily coating her own inner thighs in wet, stringy pussy juice just from the raw anticipation.

Y/N gripped his thick shaft, guiding the broad, blunt glans exactly against her tight, incredibly wet entrance.

"Your idols are so perfectly tight and incredibly greedy," he murmured, his deep voice heavily vibrating right against her ear, sending fresh shivers cascading down her spine.

Slowly, agonizingly, he pushed his hips forward. The massive, bulbous head of his BWC pushed heavily against her entrance. Momo let out a breathless, broken whine as his thick glans forced her labia wide apart, stretching her delicate pink folds to their absolute physical limit. He slid the wide head inside her just a few centimeters. The sensation was mind-shattering. She felt her tight, warm, incredibly wet Japanese pussy instantly swallow the tip, the internal muscles of her vaginal walls involuntarily clenching and violently spasming around the overwhelming, burning circumference of his cock.

"Ah! Y/N!" she gasped, her hands flying up to blindly press against the cold wall behind her for absolute dear life.

He held there for a torturous second, letting her petite body adjust to the brutal width, before gripping her hips and pushing just a few more centimeters in. The friction was incredible—a slick, wet sliding of heated flesh against flesh. With every single excruciatingly slow millimeter he invaded, Momo’s head dropped back against the concrete, overwhelmed by the searing, stretching fullness.

"Let’s see exactly how tight this 'Dancing Machine' really is," Y/N growled deeply into the crook of her neck, his hot breath washing over her pulse point.

"It’s so big," she whispered frantically, her voice trembling violently, the thick syllables of her Japanese accent heavily bleeding through her Korean as she struggled to accommodate his massive girth. "Y/N, I don't know if—"

"You said you could follow instructions," Y/N brutally interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, commanding English-inflected snarl. He released her waist, moving his left hand up to firmly cup her left bare breast, aggressively kneading the soft C-cup flesh while his right hand locked onto her hip like an iron vise. "Now, hold onto the wall. Don't fucking move."

At first, the thick, heavy friction of his deliberate, agonizingly slow penetration was what he wanted. He intended to draw out her torture, slowly melting the frozen stress from her hips inch by brutal inch. But suddenly, a voice aggressively echoed from the nearby set.

“Alright! We are ten minutes away from the next setup! Ten minutes people!”

Y/N’s dark eyes flashed with an entirely new, predatory urgency. He abandoned the slow tease. Grinding his jaw, he gripped her hip hard enough to definitely leave a bruise, pulled his hips back until only the slick glans remained just inside her entrance, and then slammed his entire 18-centimeter length deep inside her in one incredibly savage, ruthless thrust.

Momo let out a high-pitched, piercing scream that she barely managed to muffle by violently biting down on her own bottom lip. His massive cock completely buried itself to the hilt, violently parting her inner walls and slamming directly into her deepest internal depths, entirely bottoming her out with a heavy, wet smack of his hips against her exposed pubic mound.

Her brain completely short-circuited. The sheer size and devastating impact of his thrust sent a massive error code right through her nervous system.

He pulled out and slammed back in. Smack!

He fucked her relentlessly, pinning the little green fairy against the unforgiving concrete wall. The wet, filthy sounds of their bodies continuously colliding—*SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!*—echoed dangerously loud in the small shadow pocket of the backstage area. The brutal, heavy, feral rhythm was absolutely earth-shattering.

The sheer brutality of the pace entirely shattered the heavy, intoxicating slow-burn from earlier. Y/N was no longer teasing; he was annihilating her.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

His heavy, perfectly sculpted hips battered against her bare, trembling thighs. Each devastating thrust drove the massive 18-centimeter length of his hardened cock agonizingly deep into her incredibly tight, dripping wet pussy. The cold, rough texture of the cinderblock wall scraped against her bare shoulders, a jarring contrast to the blazing, friction-fueled furnace tearing through her lower half.

Y/N leaned his considerable weight into her, his mouth hovering just over the shell of her ear. His chest heaved with exertion, a sheen of dark sweat practically gluing his thin undershirt to his rock-hard six-pack.

"Fuck, Momo," he rasped thickly, his European accent making the filthy words sound unbelievably raw. "These tight Asian pussies are so fucking nice. So incredibly tight around my cock."

Momo’s eyes rolled back in her head, completely completely drunk on the overstimulating sensation of his thick glans repeatedly stretching her internal walls. "Yes!" she squealed, a wet, breathless moan ripping from her throat. "They are made for it! Made specifically for Europeans... made for your thick cock, Y/N!"

Hearing her validate his dominance sent him into an absolute frenzy. He gripped her left hip with a massive, bruising hand, his fingers digging possessively into her soft flesh, while his other hand clamped firmly over her exposed left C-cup. He squeezed her heavy breast forcefully, his calloused thumb viciously flicking her rock-hard nipple in perfect tandem with the savage thrusts of his hips.

Momo let out a sharp, fragmented scream. The physical input was entirely too much. The immense, stretching fullness of his BWC repeatedly completely bottoming her out, combined with the sharp pleasure of his rough handling, caused her brain to legitimately throw an error code.

"Ah! Y/N! Sugoi! Oh god, sugoi, it’s so huge!" she babbled deliriously, her Japanese accent taking complete control as her Korean entirely failed her. "Hayaku! Fuck! Yes! Ahhh!"

She didn't care that they were standing in the shadows just twenty feet away from a bustling film set. She didn't care if Nayeon or Sana or the camera operators heard her desperate, filthy screams. As Y/N ruthlessly stretched her delicate pink folds, repeatedly completely filling her tight cave with his unrelenting, brutal rhythm, she physically felt the intense, suffocating stress of the music video shoot entirely evaporating from her soul. The agonizing pressure to hit every mark, the self-doubt about her frozen hips—it was all being systematically pounded out of her body, replaced by a mind-melting, desperate need for absolute surrender.

Y/N forcefully ground his hips against hers, his thick, heavy balls slapping wetly against her soaked clitoris with a loud SMACK that echoed in the dark alcove.

"Taking this big BWC like it was completely made for you," Y/N snarled deeply, his breath hot against her sweating collarbone. He paused his thrusts for a fraction of a second, leaving himself entirely buried inside her to the hilt before pulling back to deliver an even harder slam. "Does it feel better than the choreography? Does it?"

The massive glans scraped against her most sensitive internal bundle of nerves. Momo threw her head back, her hands flat and fully stretched upward against the freezing cinderblock wall to brace herself. Her pert, firm ass wiggled frantically against his hips with every single devastating thrust, entirely chasing the friction.

"Yes!" Momo shrieked, the sound utterly feral and uninhibited. "A thousand times yes! Just keep fucking me!"

Her hips were completely loose now, effortlessly moving in a flawless, rhythmic counter-motion to his powerful drives. She was a wet, completely pliable mess in his massive arms.

Y/N let his hand slide from her hip, firmly trailing up the cinched waist of her vibrant green Tinkerbell dress. He cupped both of her bouncing, flushed breasts, practically overwhelming them with the sheer size of his hands.

"These are perfect," he whispered huskily right against her ear, softly biting down on her earlobe. "Your 'tt's are so incredibly nice and soft. Just a complete handful for my bear paws."

Momo moaned loudly, a thick string of saliva connecting her lips as she panted. Her invisible-strap bra was utterly useless now, her exposed chest slick with a mixture of her sweat and his, flushed an intense, dark pink from his rough kneading.

Then, impossibly, Y/N shifted his angle. He grabbed her hips violently with both hands and lunged forward with an earth-shattering amount of force.

"Ahhhh!" Momo cried out, her entire body locking up in shock.

It completely defied logic—he was already buried to the absolute base—but the subtle shift in his angle allowed his thick, bulbous head to somehow plunge a fraction of a centimeter deeper, directly and forcefully bludgeoning her highly sensitive cervix. The heavy, wet sound of his massive balls viciously slapping directly against her dripping, swollen pussy lips became a rapid-fire machine gun of absolute filth. SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SLAP!

"God, Y/N!" she groaned heavily, her core beginning to violently clench and spasm around his thick shaft as the inevitable orgasm began to build at the base of her spine. The intense release of her built-up stress was right there, entirely within reach. "I'm so much better than Jihyo... aren't I? I can take it... ah! I’m the dancing machine!"

Y/N let out a dark, breathless chuckle, never once slowing his ruthless, feral pace. He nodded firmly, his forehead briefly resting against the back of her shoulder. "You’re both fucking good. You completely swallow this cock... As far as I'm concerned, little fairy, you are exactly on the same level."

The pure validation—the knowledge that she had successfully taken exactly what Jihyo had taken—was the final, devastating trigger.

Momo completely shattered. Her tight, incredibly wet vaginal walls convulsed violently, viciously milking the entire 18-centimeter length of his hardened cock with a crushing, involuntary grip.

Her brutal internal spasms instantly triggered his climax. Y/N let out a guttural, primal roar that he desperately tried to bury into the crook of her neck. He slammed his hips flush against hers one final, devastating time, pinning her tiny frame entirely flat against the concrete wall as his massive cock heavily throbbed deep inside her tight cavern.

A searing, blinding heat flooded Momo’s core. Y/N was completely filling her, relentlessly pumping thick, boiling hot ropes of his seed directly into her deepest depths. The sheer volume of his orgasm was completely staggering. With every single massive spurt that erupted from the slit of his cock, Momo’s twitching muscles reacted, sending her into entirely new, localized mini-orgasms that left her entirely blind with raw, unadulterated pleasure. Thick, heavy rivers of his seed instantly mixed with her copious, slick pussy juices, overflowing from her completely stretched entrance and dripping heavily down the back of her thighs.

The little fairy had finally gotten her magical stress-relief from him.

Y/N remained entirely motionless for a few long, incredibly heavy seconds, simply letting his massive, twitching cock rest fully submerged within her tight, incredibly warm sheath while he caught his breath. His massive chest rose and fell rapidly against her exposed back.

Momo was completely floating, her entire body absolutely weightless. The crushing, suffocating pressure from earlier was completely, entirely gone. She slowly turned her head, looking over her shoulder at the handsome European giant. Her dark eyes were completely entirely glassy, filled with a sweet, blinding affection fueled by the intense cocktail of endorphins currently flooding her brain.

"Oh my god," Momo breathed heavily, a completely loopy, blissed-out smile spreading across her lips. "I love you, Y/N."

Y/N scoffed instantly, the heavy, dominant smirk returning to his sharply contoured face. He grabbed her waist and completely withdrew his massive cock from her dripping center. The sudden emptiness caused a thick, sloppy string of pure white cum to heavily splat onto the concrete floor between her small feet.

"Don't be ridiculous," Y/N dismissed coldly, though the corner of his lips twitched with amusement. "That is just pure sexual love. You're just high on the endorphins."

He quickly adjusted himself, effortlessly pulling his dark boxers and Adidas track pants back up over his heavy thighs and zipping up his jacket to hide his sweaty undershirt. Before completely turning away, he raised his massive hand and delivered one final, incredibly sharp, stinging slap directly against her bare, exposed ass cheek.

Smack!

"Get yourself cleaned up, you filthy little fairy slut," he commanded over his shoulder, already entirely walking back toward the edge of the shadow-drenched backstage area. "You have a scene in three minutes."

Momo was left entirely alone against the cold cinderblock wall. Her state was absolutely scandalous. Her black silk safety panties were entirely bunched up completely down around her delicate ankles. The restrictive sweetheart neckline of her bright green Tinkerbell dress was violently pulled down, leaving her flushed, saliva-slicked "tt"s completely exposed to the chilled studio air. Her inner thighs were completely completely smeared with a highly reflective, sticky mixture of Y/N’s thick cum and her own slick pussy juice.

She stood there shivering slightly, completely breathless. It was entirely absurd—she had clearly just been ruthlessly, unapologetically fucked against a wall to the point of brain failure, yet somehow, she delusionally rationalized that she had managed to completely control the interaction. She made him come. He loves me, she thought stubbornly to herself, entirely ignoring his blunt dismissal. It completely has to be love.

But more importantly, she felt unbelievably free. The heavy self-doubt regarding the chorus, the frustration of her stiff hips, and the crushing anxiety of the shoot were absolutely gone.

It took her exactly two full minutes of frantic, shaking effort to completely wipe her thighs clean with a stray packet of makeup wipes, yank her safety pants back into place, and forcefully shove her heavily used breasts back into her invisible bra. She smoothed down the wrinkled, slightly disheveled layers of her stiff green tulle skirt, attempting to restore the Tinkerbell illusion.

She strutted confidently out from the shadows, bathed once again in the blinding, heavily heated studio lights. She took her spot on the brightly colored Halloween set, a completely uncontrollable, ear-to-ear Cheshire cat grin plastered firmly across her fair face. Her body felt light, loose, and completely fluid.

From just across the set, standing in front of a dark, gothic-themed backdrop, Nayeon—dressed head to toe in an incredibly tight, vibrant red little devil costume complete with small, pointed horns—narrowed her dark eyes. Nayeon’s gaze entirely flicked from Momo's suspiciously flushed skin, to the slight disarray of her high bun, and finally, down to the dark, massive figure of Y/N entirely casually leaning against a monitor cart in the background.

A completely knowing, wicked little smile slowly spread across the devil’s lips.