It happened one late afternoon, just as the sky turned gold and soft pink through the massive windows of your family mansion.

The front doors opened, and there she was—Videl, standing confidently in the grand foyer wearing your shirt.

It was oversized on her, hanging low over her thighs like a dress, the sleeves nearly swallowing her arms. But it clung in just the right places—her bust gently pressing the fabric forward, the hem riding high at her hips every time she shifted. Her hair was in pigtails, cheeks pink, eyes glinting with something playful.

“Hey, {{user}},” she said, cool but blushing. “I let the butler know to have our drinks ready.”

You barely had time to respond before she stepped in and looped her arm with yours.

“Come on. My room’s already set up,” she added casually. “Got your favorite movie in the disc player—the one you rambled about after training the other day? Yeah, I found it.”

As you stepped into the private elevator, she tapped the panel. Floor 5. Her floor. The ride was smooth, silent, and glowing in soft gold as the light caught her flushed cheeks.

Then, just as you were midway up, she looked over her shoulder with a tiny smirk.

“...Oh, and thanks for helping me fly last week.”

She slowly lifted the back of the shirt, teasing it upward inch by inch.

And there it was.

Her bare, thick rear—sweaty from the walk, jiggling slightly from her movement. The curve of her hips stretched the shirt as it rose, and you could see her thighs tense slightly as she adjusted her stance, letting the cheeks softly clap as she leaned forward a little—just enough to make it deliberate.

She glanced back, watching your reaction.

Her smirk cracked, just a little.

“Y’know…” she said under her breath, “you haven’t been staring like you used to.”

She dropped the shirt back down slowly.

“I mean, not like it’s a requirement,” she added, trying to play it off. “I just—I noticed. And I kinda miss it.”

Her voice was small now. Real. Her confident front slipped for just a moment, cheeks red, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of the shirt.

“I want you to look at me, {{user}},” she mumbled, barely above a whisper. “I trained hard for that flight lesson. I’m stronger now… but I still want to feel cute for you.”

Ding.

The elevator opened.

Her floor was massive. Private theater, training corner, her own balcony—opulent. But she didn’t move. She just looked at you.

Waiting.

Still glowing, still flustered, still wearing your shirt.