#hoechella

Headlining at Auguste Music Festival.

It was the dream for any rock band in the current day and age to realize into existence.

And yet, even after you sang your heart out to a sea of attendees who paid top dollar to enjoy the festival, you were pissed.

You couldn’t have asked for a better performance from yourself or your bandmates. No technical glitches, the crowd was lively and full of fans who knew the lyric to every song you performed--even the unreleased tracks that you played just for the fun of it.

Social media was ablaze with the name of your band trending across the world.

But it wasn’t merely because you put on one hell of show.

Rather, it was because Belial, the lead singer of Paradise Lost, was live-streaming himself standing to the side of the stage while you performed. From bluntly uttering out vulgar comments when you would so much as bend over while singing out to the crowd or twirl the microphone in your hands, to hungrily licking his lips when you would tug at the collar of your top to relieve yourself from how warm your body was becoming, he held not a sliver of shame while spectated by thousands of his fans and onlookers who hopped on once they saw his face on the trending page. 

After all, it was a well known fact that there was a rivalry between your band and his, since the both of your groups began your rise to acclaim at the same time. You never hid your disdain when interviews would bring up Paradise Lost, especially as a means to compare your music with theirs, all while Belial--seemingly thrilled by how annoyed you were--would go on and on of how he prided himself on being an inspiration of sorts for your music.

HLAGHLKAGLHKA BELIAL REALLY NOT GIVING A FUCK OMGGG WE STAN A KINKY KING!!! AUGUSTE GIVING US THE DRAMA WE DESERVE!!!

It was one of the many comments that was displayed on your screen as you scrolled through social media on your phone.

Having since retreated from the stuffy Auguste heat of the open-air mainstage to the enclosed chilled air of your tour bus, you did what you could to bring yourself down from the rage that spiked through your blood upon realizing what was going on online.

And shutting up Belial was the first step towards some much needed tranquility.

Not even making it to one of the tour bunk beds, you had him sprawled upon his back on the floor. With your thighs on either side of his head, you kept him pinned beneath you while your hips pressed down against his face, your dribbling core planted right over his awaiting lips. One of your hands kept a firm grip on his wrists while anchoring them to the ground, the fingers of the other swiping through your timeline to like and share fan photos, videos, and comments.

As much as an arrogant, shamelessly depraved individual that he was, at least Belial wasn’t lying from all those encounters where he would purr into your ear on how he knew how to put his tongue to good use.

For every touching fan comment you read that made your heart swell, the quick circling of Belial’s tongue circling around your clit made your breath hitch.

“Enjoying the appetizer, baby~? Just wait until we get to the main course~”

The swipes against your core came to a pause, with those words just spoken to you hummed against your inner thigh. You could feel a shift beneath, which--with a glance back--was due to Belial eagerly bucking up his hips, having your eyes shift to the large bulge that had formed and was protruding through the intricately designed leather of his pants.

Your phone still in hand, you reached to grab at a handful of his hair as you readjusted your hips, planting more of your weight against his face. Ignoring his pitifully delighted groan, you huffed out, “Don’t get any ideas. This is just to shut you up.”

He obliged, the drags and licks of his tongue far more frequent and eager, seemingly enthused by your taking charge.

As your back arched against his mouth, you released his hair to continue searching through social media.

The next post you encountered was a screencap of Belial’s livestream, of him grinning to the camera while he made a heart with his thumb and index finger while you were in the foreground, all with the caption of “i wish these two would get along :((( they could be so powerful together if they collabed!!” 

You turned your head back towards his hips, your gaze lingering on his stiff erection, which just looked so constrained within his pants.

Your mind weighed the options of having his body on yours after years of rejecting his stupid boldly flirtatious ways.

Switching off your phone, you set it on the ground before you released a contemplative sigh as your fingers reached for the hem of your top.

“...If we do more than this, you better shut your mouth forever.”

Belial grinned.

It was going through the motions.

The twist of your hips, every facial expression to punctuate each melodious word that was meant to come out from your lips, your feet across the polished wooden floor based on muscle memory rather than the beat of the song.

So many months dedicated to perfecting and performing this exact choreography.

It was why you could run through the song’s dance with your eyes closed, as you were doing now.

However, given your upcoming appearance upon the bigger, grander stage of the esteemed Fódlan Awards show, a mere reiteration of your established for one of the biggest singles in your career thus far was not enough.

Not even an extended, remixed cut of your song was going to be enough to appease the audience.

As told by the higher executives at your record label.

You had to do something different.

Daring.

“We’re supposed to be in sync you know.”

Your eyes fluttered open.

And then, ever reluctantly, traveled up to a pair of twinkling brown irises, a cheeky grin, and a wild head of ginger red hair that never failed to seize attention.

Even given the circumstances, he still had it in him to sound so carefree.

Tall and gorgeous, broad shoulders that stretched out a short-sleeved white shirt that revealed toned arms and clung to a well-defined and chiseled torso, charming and captivating.

He was the idol that took the industry by storm with his talent and a subsequent controversy.

He was the man who once cradled your heart before allowing it to plummet to the ground.

He was Sylvain and he was to share the stage with you to perform the very song you penned in lieu of his unfaithfulness.

There was too much money behind his success. Your record label had to get him back in the good grace of the public, hence the ‘special’ arrangement for your performance, your feelings be damned.

And it was those forsaken feelings that made just simply looking at him too hard to bear.

Still, rather than humoring him, you only scoffed while continuing your routine: the both of you had to mirror one another’s movements, and you absolutely hated how his body continued to manage with remaining perfectly in sync with yours even if you attempted to slow or quicken each of your motions.

“If you’ve got time to talk while we’re supposed to be practicing, we can end this right here.”

His grin still remained in place, even as the shine in his eyes dwindled ever so slightly.

“I hear ya, I hear ya.”

The slowed music of the extended cut of your song’s chorus played, signaling for when it was time the two of you would point at one another before facing out to where the audience would be.

But rather than turn himself or allow you to do the same, he simply took a step forward, eliminating the space between you to grasp your wrist.

His lips were still quirked into a smile, but the words he then spoke were tinged with gruff melancholy. “You know how I am—I can’t ever appreciate a good thing even when it’s in front of me.”

Immediately, you tried to draw your hand back, but the hold that his hand--so much larger compared to yours--refused to offer any escape.

“Don’t you even start, you bastard--!” You lashed out, finding the sob that had been fighting to come loose from your lips beginning to viciously claw its way from the bottom of your throat. Not wanting to lose face in front of him, you were prepared to storm out from the practice room. Whether right over to your manager to demand once again to have a different dance partner, or outside to hail a taxi--anywhere was better than to share the same space as him.

He didn’t even flinch from what you said, the look in his eyes remorseful as it was determined. 

“Call me whatever you like. Make more songs to let the whole world how I fucked up. I’ll take it—” One more step closer towards you was taken while the tone in his voice was resolute in its desperation. “--lose my whole career over it. If it means you’ll take me back, I’ll grovel right on stage when we perform.”

To cry from anger or to cry that there was a tug at your heart strings from his determination to patch things up.

Vehemently, you shook your head, again while attempting to break free from his grip.

“Embarrass me like that and I’ll never forgive you--!”

Your wrist was freed.

But your body was immediately seized into an embrace while his lips planted right onto yours.

The scent of his favorite cologne, the softness of his mouth, the gentle heat of his body.

How you’ve missed them so as you found yourself returning his kiss, the familiarity you tried so hard to escape from lulling you immediately back in.

Your mouths soon parted but Sylvain kept you near while he brought his hand to cradle your cheek, his voice soft in a murmur, “So is there a chance that there’s room for forgiveness?”

The word ‘forgiveness’ suddenly had your mind reeling back to the horrid morning of tabloid magazines with pictures of him spotted on a late night rendezvous with a model he did a recent photoshoot with, social media ablaze as the idol community bore witness to the drama unfolding, your phone bombarded with texts and calls from management, family and friends, and most of all, him.

A sentence tumbled out from your lips, one you’ve been meaning to tell him to his face for a long while.

“I hate you.”

Once more, he didn’t flinch. He just kept you near and within his reach as he spoke,

“Do you hate this then?”

Sylvain was kissing you again, longingly, urgently. You were squirming in his arms all the while melting in his embrace, all the while his hands began to roam around your body, seeking out the sensitive points on your figure that he devoted himself to memorizing during your relationship.

He was just too good.

And this only made things worse.

“Let me make it up to you, let me make it up to you...”

Those were the words he urged in a husky murmur as you found yourself carefully laid down on the floor with him hovering right on top of you. Clothes began to scatter across the floor of the practice room as he proceeded to devote nothing but reverence to your body by the earnest suckles of his mouth on your nipples to the fluid circling of his thumb over your clit. The playback of your track had since finished, with the sound of your moans mingling with his amidst the noise of skin meeting skin in brisk slaps.

Your bodies were pressed together, joined. He was sinking the thick girth of his cock in and out of you, at first slow and indulgent but only driven to pick up his tempo with the sound of your mewls while your legs hugged around his waist while your nails scratched along his ivory shoulders.

“That’s right. Scratch me up, call me a lowlife--get it out of your system. Just take me back is all that I’m begging here,” he hissed, shuddering as he planted his mouth right onto yours for another kiss, relieved by the lack of resistance from your end.

Together.

Together as you were entangled within one another.

Together as you both soon reached climax while desperately clinging onto each other’s bodies.

Together as the two of you laid on the floor, Sylvain holding you close and tight, his grip so firm as though any give would have you slip away from him once again. Tears slipped from your eyes, immediately wiped by his lips kissing them away as he murmured a litany of apologies.

For so long, you’ve done all you could to move on from the broken love that you both shared.

“--You all should have seen Percy trying not to cry while he was holding the trophy! I really hope someone clipped that out!”

“Tch, were the stage lights blinding you or something? You’d think you’d be used to the stage, but I guess you’re still in a trainee mindset.”

“Now, now, it’s a time for celebration you two.”

“What Siegfried said! We should be celebrating with our Chickadees, not showing them this!”

With a sheepish grin, Lancelot raised his champagne glass towards the cellphone that was pointed towards him and his fellow group mates of White Dragons. It was the night of the esteemed Golden Cy Music Awards, within which a win from this show solidified an idol group’s status within the industry. This marked the first year that the White Dragons qualified for a nomination, with the group sweeping every single category they were eligible for.

Best Single, Best Album, Best Music Video, Best Choreography, Artist of the Year.

Everything.

After the fanfare of the awards, the four had retreated to the living room area of their hotel suite for a special livestream with their fans as they celebrated with glasses of champagne and hors d’oeurves from room service.

As leader, Lancelot was the one to carry along the stream, taking in fan questions and setting hearts alight with frequent finger hearts. In-between bites of finger sandwiches, Vane eagerly spouted retellings of all the madness that went on backstage and rehearsal, all while Percival shot down any supposed embellishments mid-sip of his champagne. Lastly, towards the back behind the three was Siegfried, who would chime in every now and then with his heartfelt gratitude towards the fans.

Eventually, given the late hour and by the urging of fans concerned about the four staying up so late after such a long night, it wasn’t long before the stream drew to a close with the quartet offering their goodbyes to the fans.

Lancelot was the one to rise up and switch off the phone’s stream, making sure to shut down the device completely and even having it face down on the table, right as the door that connected the hotel suite’s bedroom to the living room was opened.

There was more celebrating to be had after all.

Certainly, the White Dragons would be commemorating their wins with their agency, especially with you, their dependable producer who oversaw the group from creation to now. You were a familiar face amongst their fanbase, an enviable position given how close you were to the four and how much they praised and mentioned you during interviews and variety show appearances. Even during their acceptance speech, no matter which category it was for, your name was brought up by the group.

Wherever Lancelot, Vane, Percival, and Siegfried went, you were usually in tow.

And while fans were eagerly awaiting for your posts on your social media accounts regarding the White Dragons’s success at the Golden Cy Music Awards, they were most likely going to have to wait some time later tomorrow.

Because you were most certainly going to be up all night from the moment you went to join the four in the living room upon the conclusion of their livestream.

You would not be partaking in the champagne or any of the treats offered by room service.

Rather, you would be savoring the simple delight of finally giving Lancelot, Vane, Percival, and Siegfried the reward that you promised right before they began promotions for their most recent album.

By fans, you were typically seen hanging by the side of the White Dragons.

However, for the four, the position that was most familiar for you to be in was right in the center amongst them all.

Much like you were currently, all while adorned in expensive yet flimsy lace--handpicked by the careful eye of Percival.

Sandwiched between the thick and sturdy bodies of Siegfried and Vane while Percival and Lancelot were knelt by either side of your head, you weren’t going to leaving anytime soon.

“What were the terms again, producer? Something about letting us cum wherever we wanted?”

From sounding so composed even as emotions dared to get the best of him during their acceptance speech earlier, Lancelot spoke to you with husky words and a shallow breath. While his face was flushed with heat, a rather cheeky grin was present on his face as his hand petted your hair, all while affection filled his darkened blue eyes from the lascivious sight and hot wet sensation of your mouth engulfing his stiff cock.

“And to think you proposed that to us in such a daring tone. As if a sweep was out of our hands--” The click of Percival’s tongue was matched by the demeaning drag of the tip of his dick against your cheek, purposefully making sure to smear his pre-cum over your skin as means to claim.

You seemed to pick up on the huffiness in his voice, which had you switching from sucking on Lancelot’s dick to take Percival’s into your mouth instead, one of your hands reached up to gently massage his balls while the other began to jerk off Lancelot. 

A sudden grunt tearing from his throat, Percival bit back a gasp through gritted teeth as he bucked his hips against your awaiting lips.  “--If anything, it seems you’re the one who is becoming the most rewarded.”

Percival’s words had you letting out a muffled whine, all in tune to you suddenly clenching down around Siegfriend and Vane in response.

The low rumble of Siegfried’s groan followed soon after. “If our spoiling becomes too much for you, producer, you need only say the word.” Soft yet sensual kisses began to trail along your neck down towards your chest, his lips circling around your nipples for earnest suckling, of which was contrasted by the vigorous rhythm that he was driving his cock into you by. While his long, auburn locks obscured his face as he continued to pound your core, you could already make out his smile just by the hum of his voice. “Though, knowing how you are, you can take it.”

“Exactly! You always know how to get us motivated, producer!”

A sweet and enthused chirp from Vane was declared to you from his place beneath and behind your body. His large hands were splayed upon you, your breath fondled by one while your hip was secure in the grip of the other, keeping you locked in place as he drove every inch of his thick cock up into your ass. His spirited rhythm kept him on par with Siegfried, making sure that you never felt empty within for even a moment. “With such a prize, none of us bothered to jerk off or anything during practice, so you get to receive every drop...!”

You shuddered in anticipation.

The Ideal Idol.

The Eternal Valentine.

The Singularity of the Music Industry.

The Captain of All.

There were many phrases drummed up by journalists and squealed by adoring fans to describe the one and only Gran of Gran Cypher Entertainment. As leader of GC Entertainment’s newly debuted boyband SPARK, he already had to be front and center for variety show appearances, interviews, and the like. However, with his boyish looks, incredible vocals, mastery of dance, commanding stage presence, and captivating personality, it did not take long for many fans within the Japanese idol community to take immediate notice of his rise in popularity. 

His merch always being the first to sell out, tv producers practically fighting one another to have him so much as cameo in their newest drama, and more.

A promising future in the entertainment industry was practically assured. He need only say the word.

And so, when it came time for Gran to make his highly publicized graduation out of GC Entertainment, he had his eyes set on a solo career with the famed Crystal Records.

The nation’s idol was taking his first big step towards becoming his own artist.

And he was doing so by taking a grand stand atop a VIP table of a Vegas nightclub, pumping his fist into the air as he proceeded to chug back a bottle of Dom Perignon while the performing DJ was blasting some sexy EDM remix of Paradise Lost. The surrounding crowd of Americans--all unaware of his pristine, clean image back in Japan--cheered and jeered in support of his stranger who seemed to be paying top dollar for a fun night. 

Champagne bottles, platters of hors d'oeuvres and sushi--there was a feast all on Gran’s black card to commemorate his newfound freedom from his idol days and to give thanks to his management team for their guidance throughout his career up until now and beyond.

You didn’t feel thanked.

Rather, you felt stressed.

Quite stressed.

From the day that SPARK was selected, you were assigned to be Gran’s personal manager. Wherever he went, you would go--all to make sure he kept to his schedule and was on his best behavior. Of course, given that you both were rather close in age, your professional relationship became more relaxed and at ease. You saw firsthand the struggle to keep up to such an inane perfect ideal as an idol that he faced, and you did your best to give him time to unwind, whether time to sleep in or indulging his desire to sneak out for a fun night around Tokyo.

This closeness was why he almost turned down Crystal Records’s initial contract upon hearing that they would assign him to new management. He would only allow his signature to glide along the paper if you came with him.

And so it was done.

And it was why you were standing in this club, watching what was basically immediate grounds for the end of an idol’s career unfold before your very eyes.

No wonder he insisted on celebrating in Vegas.

To the other clubgoers, he just looked like some rich influencer balling out.

To you, it was the sight of Japan’s most cherished idol freely handing out retirement savings to all sorts of unscrupulous paparazzi.

It was almost inevitable that he was about to literally begin to rock out with his cock out.

You had to act fast.

Though Gran didn’t have to abide by idol standards anymore, you refused to see his solo career to be tainted in debauchery by the work of Instagram Live.

One moment you were at the other end of the club, the next you were halfway at the center by the poolside bar, asking for napkins and a pen from the bartender.

When it came to the idol industry, far too often did you have to create NDAs on the spot to ensure and protect the image of your idols. Never once did you step into law school, but you were familiar with striking down any potential leaks.

With your makeshift agreements in hand, you were ready to hunt down anyone who was taking pictures of Gran’s shameless display.

Your eyes shifted over to the table he reserved for tonight’s party.

He wasn’t there any longer.

“Just a step behind, manager.”

Because one of his arms was busy slinging around your shoulder, hugging you close to his side as you were quickly led away from the bar towards one of the nearby poolside cabanas--another special rental for tonight’s celebration.

Heat quickly rose to your cheeks. Both out of fear and a feeling of something that only he was privy to. Your head turned around while your fingers clawed at your stack of napkins, alarmed as you looked around to see if anyone--mere clubgoer or sneaky paparazzi--was looking your way.

“G-Gran! What are you doing--?!” You gasped out to him above the deafening club music and the chatter of the crowd. “How drunk are you that you’re doing this?!”

He only grinned toothily as he opened the tent flap, ushering you in while his hand stayed on the small of your back. “I’m not drunk, I’m alive!”

Gran entered after you. 

As the opening flap of the cabana fell closed behind him, he immediately brought his hands up to your cheeks and drew you in for a kiss.

The two of you were close after all.

“Gra— Gran…!” The gasp of his name was muffled between your mouths, his tongue swiping at your bottom lip. Your body was quickly ensnared within his grasp, his arms toned from years dedicated to staying in shape for his years as an idol. Hands that left fans buckling with a mere wave were now roaming over your body, finding much indulgence in squeezing your ass or grabbing at your breasts.

It wasn’t until you felt the slight brush of a napkin against your leg that you realized that you dropped your makeshift NDAs in the process, suddenly making you aware of what you were doing and who you were doing this with.

You pulled away with a weak whine. “We’re still in public—!”

He pursued and kissed you over and over, a grin plastered on his lips. “Who’s to say that everyone out there wouldn’t do the same if they had the chance?”

His fingers ran over the fabric of your dress, brushing at the hem as he teased, “I got this dress for you because I wanted to celebrate, and yet you were still working.” With you still in his arms, he guided you over to a nearby wicker sofa, having you lay across the ivory cushion on top as he hovered above you, gazing down into your eyes with a mischievous expression. “Bad girl~”

As his manager, you were the one to always guide him along his career path, making sure he followed up on his schedule as an idol while giving him space as needed.

But Gran was a leader for a reason.

And he reminded you of this as his fingers tugged down at the neckline of your dress while hiking up its hem.

Fanservice for hands was common for his days as an idol, with him being an expert of winking at a camera during a televised performance, or murmuring a tender line of romance to an audience of adoring fans during a variety show appearance.

But nothing he did publicly could compare to how effortlessly he made you melt with the filth he spoiled you with as the two of you remained locked in your own little world together as the party outside raged on.

“Manager’s pretty nipples--” He groaned in-between noisy suckles and kisses along your breasts, his lips clamped around your hardened peaks, all while his hips ground against yours, making sure you felt the weight of his clothed, erect cock through the flimsy material of your panties, of which were soon removed afterwards.

Were it not knowing that he would only tease and torture you further if you proceeded to do so, you wanted to hide your face in embarrassment--even now, it was still just so much to have the nation’s idol be so dirty towards you.

Especially when it came time for when his desire for you could not wait any further, with the hasty unbuckle of his belt and the tug of his zipper before you felt the hot, drippy tip of his cock nudge and slide against your dribbling center as he groaned out, “--manager’s pretty pussy.” With adoration in his eyes, he then breathed out with reverence as he drank in the sight of your disheveled state. “Everything about you is pretty.”

“You are too much,” you shuddered with a whine, the barrage of his relentless sweetness. “To think I let you get away with practically everything.”

“‘Too much?’” He repeated curiously with a chuckle. “Are you saying you want less? Because I’m pretty sure you want more, right…!”

His hands grabbed hold of your waist as he sheathed his cock inside you fully in one thrust. The squeal of his name on your lips and the adrenaline of partying so hard had him wasting no time to begin pounding away into your core with heavy, hearty thrusts. With a twinkle in his eyes, he admired how precious you looked as you were left to grab at the cushion of the sofa beneath you, all while humming out, “I guess it’s only reasonable that I behave like I do when my manager is so naughty~”

“Gran--!” This man was just too damn good.

His lips were all over yours again, a mix of tender love and shameless desire with each kiss. “No matter where we go from here together, that’s the sound I always wanna hear above anything else in the world!”

It was nearing 3 AM at this point, but as everyone in the club continued to party the night away, so would you and Gran as the both of you celebrated not just his newfound solo career, but a new chapter where he was no longer bound to his duties and expectations of an idol, but to being his own individual, one who would eagerly and happily proclaim his love for you soon enough.