PitBabe Cast: Imagines

SailubPon: Mine 8

Brazil was everything I remembered and more—vibrant, alive, unapologetically passionate. The final stop of the fanmeet tour had a bittersweet edge, but here, surrounded by warmth, color, and the electric energy of our Brazilian fans, sadness had no place. We were greeted like family. Like we belonged. And somehow, it didn't feel like an ending. It felt like a celebration.

So, I wanted to give my all today—for them, for us, for him.

Backstage was buzzing, stylists flitting from one member to the next, last-minute checks and soft laughs blending into the hum of the crowd already forming outside. I was tucked into a corner of the room, scrolling TikTok absentmindedly as I waited for my turn.

That's when I saw it.

A trend. A couple. A moment.

The woman had his man pinned gently to the wall, one arm caging him in, the other holding the phone as she lip-synced with red lips and eyes full of playful mischief. Her lipstick had stained his face in kiss marks—cheeks, jaw, neck, even his collarbone. And he wore them like a trophy. Smiling. Proud.

My heart fluttered.

Without meaning to, my gaze drifted across the room to Sailub.

He was seated in front of the mirror, letting the stylists perfect his look. He looked unfairly good, even in the fluorescent backstage lighting—his skin glowed, his hair tousled just right. His features were softened with focus, but even then, he was magnetic.

I imagined him covered in my kisses. My lipstick.

Red prints all over his flawless face, like the video. Would he even let me? Would he like it?

I didn't realize I was staring until he caught me in the mirror. He turned his head slightly, catching my eyes with a small, amused smirk and one raised brow—his silent way of asking "Need something?"

It was second nature for him. Ever since we got together, he'd always offered himself so easily, so willingly—whether it was a drink, a jacket, or comfort after a hard day. As long as it wasn't bad for me or harmful, he never said no.

My heart stuttered, embarrassed. The vivid images of him under me, stained red with my kisses, flooded my mind again. I blushed, dropping my gaze to my phone like it had personally betrayed me. Without a word, I stood up and slipped away into the restroom.

The room was small, barely enough space to turn around in. I locked the door and sank onto the closed toilet lid, patting my chest in an attempt to calm the sudden rush of nerves and heat pooling in my stomach. My cheeks were burning.

Why was I feeling like this?

We've done things before—God knows we've had moments where things got heated. But something about this idea, about this intimacy, felt different. Less about lust, more about claiming. Marking. Wanting to be seen, to be owned.

I sighed and opened my phone again, rewatching the trend on loop. Couple after couple, some playful, some steamy, and all of them radiating that closeness I suddenly craved with a hunger I didn't know I had.

Was it because of what I was wearing? The way my shirt was skin-tight and cropped at that, exposing bare skin. I remembered him eyeing it earlier with that look in his eyes—the one that always made my spine tingle. He'd told me earlier I could wear whatever I wanted since it was the last fanmeet. Maybe this...was his idea of a reward.

Or maybe it was the last time we got caught in a situation not unlike this that made me so hesitant now. The embarrassment had lingered. I'd pulled away after that, too shy to let things get intense again during work.