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cherrixpie · 4 months ago

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DINNER AND DIATRIBES

double feature: part a - part b

-> not only is mattheo too late to ask you out to the yule ball, you're going with harry potter of all people. now, his best friend is going to the ball with his nemesis and he has some feelings about it.

-> mattheo riddle x bsf! reader; part a; sfw; wc: 13k; cw: suggestive, mentions of violence; tags: friends to lovers, yule ball setup; again I wasn't able to tag everyone, sorry :(

( masterlist )

There were many who would call Mattheo Riddle crazy. A bloodthirsty maniac, who couldn’t be bothered to feel attachment, or fear, or any normal human emotion for that matter. A psychopath who would snap on a whim and held an iron grip on the school when he wanted to.

But you had never been able to see him the way other people did, never could relate the picture the whispers and rumors painted to the man who was currently breathing down your neck. His nose ran down your skin and you could feel his boredom on your fingertips as he leaned his forehead against the back of your neck. His knee rocked unsteadily under you, making the thigh you had slung over his bounce up and down almost indiscernibly in return.

“Have you heard that Susan Bones is going with one of our house?” asked Pansy through the chatter surrounding you, widening her eyes dramatically. “Susan Bones. And a Slytherin. Merlin, I didn’t think I’d see the day, they must have the same freaky kinks or something to make that match work.”

Blaise’s laughter echoed off the stone walls of the dungeons. The Slytherin common room was painted in its usual emerald glow. It flickered across the tapestry showing scenes of a medieval wedding tonight. Only after spending more time with Pansy and the boys in your fifth year, and after weeks of hanging around with them in their common room, had you noticed that the tapestry kept changing its motif and scenery. Low chatter and conversation filled the space as groups of students were huddled around couches or desks, studying or talking, some of them reading by themselves. It wasn’t as busy as your common room, nor was it as loud, and you quite enjoyed the calmer atmosphere.

You sat comfortably on Mattheo’s lap, his arm draped lazily around your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the fabric of your uniform skirt. It wasn’t unusual- your friendship with you-know-who’s son was quite affectionate, filled with easy touches and stolen warmth, a silent understanding of physical proximity neither of you ever questioned. But tonight, something felt different. His grip was a little tighter, his body a little tenser beneath yours, his usual sharp, sarcastic remarks replaced with a brooding silence as the others discussed the upcoming Yule Ball.

“I think I’d say yes to Diggory, if he asked,” Pansy mused, twirling a strand of dark hair between her fingers and quirking an evil little smirk at Blaise’s frown. “He’s got that whole golden-boy thing going on.”

Mattheo scoffed under his breath and you felt the brush of puffed-out air tingling the skin of your neck, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. “Golden-boy thing is just another way of saying boring.” His tone was clipped, disinterested, but you could still feel the way his legs bounced slightly beneath you, a tell-tale sign of his agitation. He’d been in a foul mood all day, propelling anyone near him or passing him in the corridors into a constant state of nervousness and vigilance.

As you thought back, you guessed his bad mood must have started back when Professor McGonnagall had announced the ball, halfway into december, and you felt your lips twitch at the thought that Mattheo Riddle might shy away from a dance. You shifted slightly in his lap, turning to look at him with a raised brow. “What’s got your robes in a twist?” you teased brazenly, delivering a playful nudge to his shoulder.

But instead of smirking back at you like he usually would, he simply huffed, gaze flickering away. “I just don’t see why any of you care so much,” he muttered. “It’s just a bloody dance.”

“And you call me a spoilsport,” huffed Theo next to the two of you, balancing a book in his lap. His eyes met yours and his lips curled into a mocking smile as they flickered back to Mattheo. Theo and you were probably his best friends- as well as the only ones who would ever tell him off for something. For good reason. Because the two of you were also, with high probability, the only ones Mattheo would never seriously hurt.

“Shut it, Nott,” mumbled Mattheo warningly and Theo shrugged, turning a page in his book.

Your body was still turned to Mattheo when Draco’s drawling voice spoke up. He was lounging in the best seat by the fire with an air of superiority. “I don’t know about you all,” he said uppishly, “But I already have a date for the Ball.”

“Really?” Pansy asked in surprise and shot up from where she was leaning against Blaise. Her eyes glinted at the prospect of being the first one to receive the newest gossip. Half the reason she was so excited for the Yule Ball had to be watching all the drama unfold. Having a front-row seat and sipping her red wine when the screaming matches and tearful breakups would start.

“Who are you going with?” asked Enzo, interested, from his place at the far end of the couch. He himself had already gotten three invitations to the Ball that day, all from very flustered looking, younger girls, and had to decline all of them with an apologetic smile, later complaining about it to his friends. And of course, you had all diligently listened to his woes before smacking him over the head with a pillow for being such a damn loverboy. And watching him shuffle his curls back into place.

“Daphne,” revealed Draco in a superior tone, watching his nails in feigned disinterest.

But Pansy sucked a loud breath in through her lips and gripped Blaises thigh so hard he let out a low noise of complaint. She ignored him, a predatory smile on his face. “Did you ask her or did she ask you?”

“Does that matter?” scoffed Draco lazily, but there was a very faint tint of pink on his pale cheeks. His displeased frown flickered over Pansy, Enzo, Blaise and you as you all started laughing. Mumbling something indiscernible, he pretended to be interested in the tapestry above, making Pansy bend forward with giggles.

“What about you, Pans?” you asked when she had calmed down and slumped back into Blaise, your eyes wandering back and forth between them. “Do you already know who you’re going with?”

With a secretive smile, Pansy shrugged but splayed a thigh over Blaise’s leg. Her manicured nails traced a line up his knee as she winked at you. “Who knows?” Her eyes flickered between you and the disgruntled looking Mattheo currently resting his chin on your shoulder and glaring into the emerald fire. “What about you?”

At the question, Mattheo’s hold on your waist stiffened. His fingers, that had been drawing lazy circles on your hip, suddenly stilled, pressing just a fraction harder into the fabric of your skirt. On your shoulder, you felt his jaw tense, a muscle ticking as he shifted slightly beneath you, his leg bouncing once more before he forced it to stop. Though he kept his gaze trained on the fire, his grip on you didn’t falter.

Normally, he held you like this when he had to somehow ground himself, threatening to lose himself in a whirlwind of anger and stress, moments before either jumping another student or being dragged off by you or Theo. But there was no one here that might have attracted his hate, and your brows scrunched up in a frown he couldn’t see. Anyone else might’ve missed the way his fingers flexed or how his breath grew just slightly uneven, but you felt it- every small, quiet reaction that betrayed his indifference.

Something about this Ball seemed to agitate him, and you placed a warm hand on his thigh to draw careful circles on it, in the hopes of appeasing whatever it was that fueled his bitter temperament.

“No plans,” you answered, as casually as possible. In truth, you had been hoping for Mattheo to ask you ever since the announcement. You had had a giant crush on him for months now, one that you sometimes thought he reciprocated, when his touch would grow a little to intimate, his face inch a little too close, his dark promises a little too sincere to be considered platonic. This was the downside to your rather touchy friendship, the fact that there was no clear line to cross, that you could never be sure.

Holding onto hope, you’d declined Harry’s invitation a few days before, still dreaming that he could feel the same about you, as Pansy constantly assured you. But if he didn’t ask you today… Glancing back at him carefully, you only caught half his face in your field of vision, but it showed no emotion. It was still hardened with the earlier tension, not a muscle twitching, not even a small look back at you.

Enzo leaned forwards slightly, propping his arms up on his knees and giving you a sly grin. “I heard Pucey’s thinking about asking you,” he insinuated, brows wiggling suggestively.

Before you could answer, Mattheo’s voices sounded against your neck, his chin still propped up on your shoulder. “Pucey can go fuck himself.” It was a low, dangerous sound and the group fell silent for a few seconds.

Something like excitement curled into your stomach, until you realized with a pang of disappointment that Mattheo’s disapproval of Pucey reached far deeper than some Ball. He was always raving and raging about him when he returned from his Quidditch practices, and made you card your hands through his curls until he considered himself appeased. Naturally, he wouldn’t want one of his best friends going out with his least favorite housemate. Naturally. Platonically. Disappointingly.

Pansy was the first one to speak again, the grin had found its way back onto her face as she turned to you once more. “So, that’s the verdict then, love? No secret admirers to swipe you away to the night of your life?”

She jiggled her brows suggestively, biting down on her bottom lip in a not so subtle way that made you chuckle and shake your head at her. Raising your hands in mock surrender, you leaned back into Mattheo whose chest seemed to be rising and falling a bit faster as he glared at Pansy. “No secret admirers that I know of.”

A low scoff sounded behind you, as Mattheo seemed much more eager to join the conversation than during the last half hour. “They wouldn’t be very secret if they knew what was good for them.”

Merlin, sometimes you wished he would talk more like your friend and less like… well, whatever this was. But his brows were furrowed so beautifully you could barely think about the implications of his words, or the way Pansy shrunk back instinctively at the look he was giving her, fingers curling around your thigh. Otherwise, you’d surely have scolded him for scowling at her like that.

Blaise hummed, rubbing circles on Pansy’s back and giving you a sly look. “You should go with someone … unexpected,” he suggested, mocking a thoughtful tone and expression, “Shake things up, y’know? Maybe you could release Enzo from his misery. Gryffindor Miss perfect with a Slytherin pureblood, story writes itself, doesn’t it?” You could hear his voice was meant to provoke, just who you weren’t sure. Because you merely laughed at the clearly unserious idea.

But over the amused look you shared with Pansy, you missed the way Enzo widened panicked eyes at Blaise as if he’d just thrown him under the bus, as well as the way Mattheo pulled you depper into his lap. You followed the urge subconsciously and leaned your head against his, still grinning. “Someone shocking, you say?” you picked up his statement, careful not to be too obvious, “Like who? Apart from poor Enzo, I mean.”

“Not fucking Pucey, that’s for sure,” said Mattheo under his breath and you bit down on your tongue, swallowing your disappointment. Pansy threw you a knowing look that you pretended not to see. You were being absolutely ridiculous.

A long, dramatically exasperated sigh came from the armchair near the fire were Draco was still sprawled out, toying with a loose strand of the leather cushions. “You could always go with Mattheo,” he suggested what you hadn’t had the guts to- quite ironic though it was; and ran his eyes over your intertwined figures. “Since you two can’t seem to spend five minutes apart anyway.”

In an attempt to overplay your flusteredness that he had brought it up, just said it out loud, while you were seated in Mattheo’s lap no less and one of his hands dipped under your shirt to bury itself in the meat of your tummy, you chuckled and scratched the back of your neck. Craning your head around, you smiled humorously at your friend. “What, and boost his ego even more?”

For the first time in a while, an actual grin finally played around his lips again as he kneaded the flesh of your belly, throwing you a challenging look. “You love my ego.”

Because one couldn’t simply lie to Mattheo without him knowing, you turned away with a laugh instead of answering his question. Joining in, Pansy watched the outline of Mattheo’s fingers against your shirt and smirked. Her glance back up at him was a silent promise not to let the topic go so easily, and he rolled his eyes at her behind your back.

“You do have standards, right?” asked Blaise lazily, passing around a bar of dark chocolate and shuffling around on the sofa to put his head in Pansy’s lap, who raised her brow but didn’t throw him off. Instead, she returned her attention to you.

“You should definitely go with someone who can actually dance,” she said, smirking.

You nudged Mattheo in the side, not catching the look in his eyes as they snapped up to your bright face. “So, not Mattheo then?”

Suddenly, his body seemed on alert again, no longer leaning against the cushions as his lips seemed to hover somewhere near your ear. If it was any indication, his breath fanned your earlobe and you had to suppress a shiver as his voice sounded low, next to your ear. “You don’t even know what I can do, sweetheart.”

Ah. Sweetheart. Damn the way your insides were curling with the way the nickname rolled off his tongue so smoothly. Mattheo had tried out many of those before settling on sweetheart, for some reason. You had loved every single one, from doll to darling to princess, but for some reason, Mattheo had decided that sweetheart was around to stay. So, now you were his sweetheart. In any sense but the literal one.

“Well,” said Enzo, carefully examining Mattheo, as if gauging if he was in a mood to be reasoned with. Not that he had to worry, Enzo was probably the fastest runner out of your friend group, always the least likely to get in trouble for a brawl or altercation because he was the first who disappeared from the scene of the crime, even before the teachers showed up, keeping him his prefect’s badge. “I heard something through the grapevine the other day-”

You believed to know what was coming now and your eyes widened as you shook your head at him. But Pansy leaned forwards eagerly, ignoring Blaise’s protests. “Go on!”

“Ah,” said Enzo, clearly deriving some sort of pleasure from having everyone hang onto his every word. “You see, some little birdie told me you had been asked out by Potter.”

Closing your eyes, you let the round of jeers and whistles that swept the others wash over you and buried your face in your hands, burning with embarrassment. When you looked up again, you met the eyes of five attentive listeners, eager to hear your side of the story. Even Theo had marked his page with an index finger and raised a brow at you expectantly. Only Mattheo was eerily still beneath you, his fingers having halted all movement.

“How do you get all this information?” you asked Enzo incredulously, rubbing the back of your neck again and trying to deflect from the fact he had just dropped- knowing nothing would fulfill your friends’ curiosity but your explanation.

“I have my sources,” said Enzo secretively and tapped his fingers against each other, watching you over them. “And it seems like they’re reliable.”

“You’re not- you know- going with him?” asked Pansy in an almost disgusted voice and you frowned at her. “I declined. But even if I didn’t, what would be wrong with that? He’s my friend after all.”

Your friends fell silent, probably swallowing down a round of insult they would gladly chat about once you were gone. Thinking of which, your eyes snapped to the clock above the fireplace and you jolted a bit when you saw the time. Before Pansy could open her mouth to ask you another question, you interrupted her. “Alright, this has been fun, but I’m leaving before this conversation gets worse- or before Filch starts patrolling the corridors.”

As you shifted to get up from his lap, Mattheo’s arm around your waist tightened instinctively, his fingers pressing into your side just enough to make you hesitate. You pushed against his chest lightly, but he didn’t budge, his grip lazy yet firm- like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go. Or, perhaps, punishing you, for being asked out by Harry.

“Mattheo,” you murmured, half amused, half embarrassed because all your friends were watching with teasing eyes and matching grins.

But he only smirked, his dark eyes flickering up to yours with a glint of something unreadable. “What?” he drawled, feigning innocence even as his hold on you lingered, burning against your skin. It took another small shove- this time with a bit more force behind it- for him to finally release you, his hands dragging down your sides as you slipped free, leaving behind a warmth that made your skin tingle even long after you stood.

“Yeah,” said Theo slowly, tapping his fingers against the back of his book as his eyes lingered on Mattheo, who was now looking at you in a way that made it quite difficult for you to move your feet in the right direction- and steadily at that. “You better go before Mattheo combusts.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes at Theo, though his gaze was still firmly locked on you. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to ruin the fun.”

With a light-hearted giggle, you pushed past the sofas and armchairs and waved them goodbye, earning a round of “Good night”s and “Have fun with the lions” in return. As your figure disappeared in the common room entrance, Mattheo's eyes lingered on the wall sealing itself again, as if you were still standing there.

“Well, that was painful,” commented Theo, leaning back against the cushions and glancing over at his best mate. “Watching you struggling not to show how much you care who she goes with.”

“I don’t,” the other lied, knowing it was in vain when he saw the devilish smirk spread on Pansy’s face. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care,” she emphasized the last words sarcastically, “you sure grabbed her like she was yours.”

You were. Feeling annoyed at the lot of them and knowing he would be subjected to a great deal of teasing until Theo’s desire for a smoke reached the level of his, Mattheo leaned back against the couch and rolled his eyes, trying not to focus his mind on the memory of you flush against him- right where he liked you best. “She was already sitting there. What, you wanted me to throw her off?,” he snarled back, glaring at one of the portraits to avoid Pansy’s raised brows. When it came to affairs of romance, she was surprisingly sharp. No wonder she seemed to know how much he fucking adored you.

Next to him, Theo coughed a false, ironic cough and Mattheo knew he couldn’t expect any support from that side either. “Mate, your hand was on her hip like you were staking a claim,” Theo drawled, giving him a smug look that Mattheo returned, unimpressed. “You want me to put my hand on your hip instead?”

“Dios mio, no,” replied Theo under his breath, reopening his book but still actively listening to the conversation unfolding.

Again, it was Pansy who broke the silence with a daring grin, crooking her head at Mattheo. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re mad she hasn’t asked you to the ball yet.”

Mattheo deadpanned, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, yeah, Pans. I’m devastated.”

“You know,” Enzo piqued up now, smiling casually in the knowledge that he was on the winning side in this. “If you asked her nicely, maybe she’d go out with you.”

Leaning forwards, Mattheo gave him a sardonic smile, sneering, “Oh right.” His tone was mocking, exaggerated. “‘Please, love of my life, light of my existence, will you attend the stupidest event of the year with me?'” He did his best to sound nonchalant, as if the mere idea of asking you out on a date was absurd and not the subject of his more innocent daydreams.

But irony could only do so much to conceal how much he really meant the words, how they opened the door to a path to his deepest, darkest desires that he would rather not open right now. No, he preferred to visit those darker corridors of his sacreligious existence when he was alone, in his dorm, shame and excitement curling in his chest as he imagined you how he could never have you. Where nobody could see just how much you meant to him.

Draco let out a scoff from his place by the fire and everyone turned towards him instead. “Imagine if she said yes to Potter,” he said, expression morphing into one of disgust. “Imagine them slow dancing.” Mattheo, who knew exactly what purpose hid behind those carefully chosen words, couldn’t help but tightening his jaw at the idea, the image. If he hadn’t hated Potter enough already, the idea itself would have done it.

“Imagine me hexing you into next week,” he growled at Malfoym who fell silent immediately, but earned himself an appraising nod from Pansy.

“What if she actually did go with Potter though?” Blaise pried further, smirking up at him from where his head rested in Pansy’s lap.

Mattheo felt his patience undeniably tested, fingers flexing against his tense legs as one of them started to bounce restlessly. Merlin, how he could have smashed Blaise’s stupid, grinning face into this stupid, grinning portrait to make them both stop mocking him. But that would prove all of them right, and maybe he didn’t even want to admit to himself how much the image bothered him, how much it made him want to storm up to Gryffindor tower to eliminate the threat himself. “Then Hogwarts would need a new chosen one,” he gruffed out, voice low as his fingers itched for a cigarette.

The topic of you and your friendship had been one of great interest these past few months, ever since it had become normal for you to rest on each other's lap, run your fingers through each other's hair or sleep over in each other’s dorm. It had raised more than a few eyebrows, but Mattheo had always smirked them away, relishing in showing you off. This loose but ever-present claim he had on you, that made him feel perfectly entitled to stare down any boy you crossed when walking through the halls with him, it had been enough for him.

Up until now, it seemed. When they had gotten brazen enough to think that they could dare ask out his girl. Only that you weren’t, he had to remind himself. No matter how often he touched you, it wouldn’t make you his, properly, until he worked up the courage to ask you. But there was just one problem: himself. And the danger he put you in by making you something more than a friend.

“What makes you think I even want to go out with her?” he asked roughly, brows scrunched up in a bitter frown and aching for something to soothe his nerves. You would have been ideal, but alas, you were gone and he needed another, a lesser fix. When he glanced up, he was met with four pairs of raised brows, as his friends all stared at him incredulously.

“Mate,” said Enzo in a voice that suggested he was trying to reason with him. “You just had her in your lap. You glare at any guy who even looks at her. You beat up Zacharias Smith when he stood her up so bad he had to spend the holiday in St. Mungos, and the only reason you weren’t charged with something was because you literally threatened to kill him if he spoke to someone about it.”

Mattheo glowered at the ground, conflicting emotions clawing at his chest, desperate for release. He felt it again. The whirlwind of his own self, all-consuming, unstoppable, but by the your touch, the sound of your voice. When he felt like he was hovering with one foot over the abyss, threatening to be swept up by the confusing storm raging against the confines of his body, you were the only one able to reach him, reach out to him, calm his whirling thoughts, his flaring temper.

No wonder Enzo always ran for you whenever it looked like he was about to start a fight. He knew how utterly disarmed he was when you looked at him with those pretty wide eyes of yours. How your worry extinguished any and all rage inside him, making something else entirely pulse in his chest.

“Can’t I be a good friend?” he asked, sarcastically. But he knew the charade wasn’t fooling anyone anymore. Hell, it was not even fooling himself.

Pansy’s voice sounded surprisingly genuine, the teasing, though still present, taking a backseat to a hesitant reaching out. “Well, I think she would like you better as her boyfriend.”

Not wanting to even acknowledge the sincerity of the words, allow himself to think of the real possibility, get his damn hopes up only to get them squashed down again, he sniggered mockingly at her, a contemptuous smile dancing around his lips. Detached. “Well, I think she would have given some sort of indicator or signal if she felt that way.”

A stunned silence followed as all of them, even Theo, seemed completely taken aback. Pansy and Blaise shared an is he actually being serious right now sort of look and Enzo blinked, perplexedly, at his friend. All of them, completely stupefied with the blatant ignorance of the both of you. They had taken you to be oblivious because of some vague romantic insecurity, but Mattheo could usually be trusted to be quite observant, especially when it came down to you. His friends tended to tease him for being so much of a guard dog, having developed some kind of sixth sense for boys looking at you with greedy eyes and how he would press a quick goodbye kiss to your temple before excusing himself to go and sort them out.

But here he was, being so utterly oblivious to the way you clearly reciprocated his affections- how you would barely manage to conceal your blushing, how your eyes would linger on him, how you would stare at him lovingly when lost in thought, how he would always be your very first priority, how you would drop everything you were doing to come help him, even if it was about something some would consider utterly meaningless.

But alas, his ignorance seemed to match yours, and they had to sit and watch, growing ever more frustrated with the way you pined and yearned for each other without ever getting a fucking move on.

Theo was the first to break the silence, brow raised at Mattheo who still stubbornly glared at te ground. “So, what’s the plan? Keep glaring at every guy who looks at her until she magically realizes you’re in love with her?”

He had dropped the magic word. the l-word, that would never make it past Mattheo’s lips and could barely enter his thoughts, as if it was a trigger. Any time he heard it, he cringed involuntarily. But he was too tired of this day and this damn converssation to correct him. “Worked out so far,” he shrugged.

Theo rolled his eyes at him, and from the way his fingers twitched agitatedly against the bookcase, Mattheo knew he was just as eager for a smoke as him, meaning he would provide him with a way out of this fucking therapy session in under five minutes. The guy was just as addicted to nicotine as he was. “And how would you feel about it if someone asks her out tomorrow who she wouldn't be so quick to decline. How would you feel about it when she turns up to the ball with someone other than you?”

Nothing, was what he meant to say. But the words didn’t make it past his lips. They were chocked by the image of you, hanging onto another guy’s arm, laughing for another guy, dancing with another guy. Something dangerous coiled in his stomach, like a snake, ready to attack but with no one to sink its teeth into but himself.

“Fucking hell,” he cursed darkly, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were plain white, close to cracking, or so it seemed to him.

Theo nodded appreciatively, rising from his seat as Mattheo followed, running a calloused and shaky hand over his face. “You know what to do then.”

When you pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady, you were greeted with a warmth both the Slytherin common room and the halls of Hogwarts had been missing. Loud chattering and laughter filled the room, the figures of many Gryffindor students in the golden hue of the cackling fireplaces. Where Slytherin’s common room was undeniably more stylish and sophisticated, your common room was just cozy.

You spotted your friends sitting by the fire, having snatched the best sofa for themselves. Hermoine seemed to be working on an essay, Ginny’s nose was buried in her book, and over the rim of the worn out cushions, you spotted the heads of Harry and Ron, setting on the carpeted floor between sofa and fireplace. Walking over to them, you let your bag down with a thud that made some of them turn their heads and smile in greeting, though you could see the light frowns on some of their faces.

They were equally as unpleased about your friendship with their Slytherin peers as they were about your Gryffindor housemates. Really, it was only natural, seeing as the two groups had a history of picking petty fights with each other and landing the others in the hospital wing. At least some of them held their frustration with the others back for the quidditch pitch, but the same couldn’t be said for all of them.

But your friends’ disapproival of your Slytherin friendgroup was nothing compared to their objection to your attachment to Mattheo Riddle, son of Lord Voldemort himslef and Harry’s personal nemesis since first grade. Not only were they among the students whispering about his reputation and dark legacy behind his back, Harry (and Ron) had also been on the receiving end of Mattheo's fists before- and hit back.

As you sat down between Hermoine and Ginny on the couch, you saw that Harry and Ron were sitting on the carpet, facing each other, a board of wizard chess in between them. The game seemed to have been going on for a while already, as a larger pile of defeated white figures and a smaller one of black figures lay by the side of the board. Harry seemed to be losing, as anyone would, against Ron. Watching Ron make a clever move against him, you lamented that you would love to see him play with Theo- it would certainly be a battle for the ages.

Ron looked up from the game when you got comfortable in the squishy cushions of the worn-out sofa and his eyes ran over you for a second, as if checking for injuries. “How was the snakepit?” he asked, and though it was humorous, his voice held an underlying tension.

“Anyone bite you?” asked Ginny from behind the shitty romance book she was currently hate-reading, a teasing tone evident in her voice. Out of all of them, Ginny was probably the most chill about your ties to the Slytherins, as she herself didn’t give much of a shit about house rivalries. “Anyone you’d want to bite you?” she added, making you huff out a small laugh under your breath.

“I am unharmed, thank you,” you said, a bit curtly at the condescending tone of Ron’s question. Just as it was with your Slytherin friends, you’d always defend your ties to the other group when they talked shit about each other- in the full knowledge that it would never change anything, and they would just keep hating each other.

When Mattheo had suggested you shouldn't waste your breath trying to stand up for your friends when their hostility ran too deep to ever be dismantled, you had asked if he’d say that about you defending him in front of your friends too. Thinking back to his taken-aback expression, you had to suppress a smile. Mattheo had never again tried to convince you not to stick up for your friends, but when you'd slept over at his dorm a few nights later, he’d asked you if you had been serious about defending him to your friends. He hadn’t looked at you, but you had heard the vulnerability in every gruff grumble of his tone.

Hermoine’s matter of fact voice drew your attention back to the situation at hand. “Did he finally ask you?” she inquired, scratching a loudly purring crokshanks behind the ear.

You knew what she was talking about, of course, and averted your eyes. Concealing your disappointment, you pretended to be interested in Harry's and Ron's game, where Ron now checkmated Harry, making him groan loudly. “No,” you answered in your best impression of indifference.

Harry, who had not been paying attention to the conversation due to his humiliating defeat, finally admitted his loss and turned his attention to the couch. “y/n?” he addressed you, chiming in, and you raised your brows at him inquiringly. Wringing his hands, he seemed a little embarrassed. “So… remember when I asked you about being my date for the Yule Ball?”

“Vividly,” you answered, nodding.

In fact, you did. In this very same common room, at about one in the morning, he’d called back to you when you’d made your way back up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. Due to procrastinating your homework of the last week, you had been staying up to complete several essays, with only him as your company. Being the Quidditch team captain and assigned the duties coming along with the position, he’d been behind his course work as well until the last embers of the fire had burned down. In the total darkness, he’d asked you to come with him to the yule ball- as a friend, of course. But you had declined the offer, still foolishly hoping that Mattheo might put his money where his mouth was and ask you out instead.

Harry rubbed his neck, sounding just as embarrassed as that night. “Yeah, well, I still kind of don’t really have a date yet ...”

General laughter took over the group at his red-faced confession. Next to you, Ginny giggled, shifting her concentration back onto her book, as Hermoine shook her head with a little smile. “Absolutely pathetic, mate,” commented Ron, collecting the chess figures and board to store them back in one of the shelves beside the fireplace.

“Hey,” said Harry indignantly, raising his brows at him, “you had to get asked by Hermoine because you didn’t have the balls to ask her herself!” More laughter followed his words and you clutched your sides, glancing over at Hermoine who was chuckling to herself as her eyes skimmed the parchment for any errors she might have missed. “He does have a point," she smiled.

Ron groaned at her, as if she had just delivered a brutal stab to his back, and let himself fall back onto the carpet as the laughter subsided. When he was done grinning at Ron’s humiliation, Harry turned back to you in a business-like manner. “Alright, I’ll be asking you one last time before i accept my fate as the sad, date-less guy for the night.”

His words reminded you that you, too, were among the last people to not have a date for the night, probably in the entire school. Pretty much all of your friends already had partners, and really, it wasn’t only true that you were Harry’s last resort, he was also yours, since Mattheo didn’t seem remotely interested in the idea of taking you out for the ball.

“And that would be different from the usual how?” Ginny asked with raised brows, still not looking up from her book.

“You’re not helping, Ginny,” Harry deadpanned at her before turning back to you, a pleading look in his eyes. “Look. You don’t have a date. I don’t have a date. And, speaking for myself here, if I don’t find one, McGonnagall might force me to take Mrs. Norris out of pity.”

The thought made you break out into a fit of giggles, picturing Harry dancing with the caretaker’s grumpy cat. Ron, who seemed to feel a similar way, grinned. “Now that’s a mental image I didn’t need.”

“Mrs. Norris in a tiny gown…,” said Ginny dreamily, turning a page in her book and making Harry roll his eyes at his friends’ antics.

Feigneing support, you patted his shoulder and offered empathetic, constructive advice. “Why not take Filch himself while you’re at it? I’m sure he’s a great dancer.”

Harry rubbed at his temples and shook his head at the round of laughter that followed your words. “Okay, so, moving on-,” he turned his gaze back to you, serious once more. “You are my best option.”

“Flattering, Harry,” you joked, “And they say chivalry is dead.” Smiling, you averted your eyes to think properly and instead focused them upon crookshanks who was striding towards you on the couch. You started to pet him, earning a mechanical sort of purr from the old cat, as you contemplated the situation.

“Listen,” said Harry, dragging himself on the carpet in your direction. “It’s a good pitch. We’ll go as friends, no pressure, no drama, no expectations- just two people avoiding being total losers together.”

Crookshanks began purring with more enthusiasm as you scratched him behind the ears, hesitating. “I mean… I guess?” It wasn’t like he didn’t have a point. Turning up alone would be less than favorable, especially since all your friends had dates for the night, except Harry. Honestly, you’d probably spend most of the night with him anyway, due to that fact. Might as well make it official.

The scratching of Hermpoine’s quill next to you had stopped as she looked at you over the rim of her parchment. “You guess?” she asked, eyes narrowed. You shrugged, instead of relaying the lengthy explanation for your hesitation. In spite of what Pansy constantly tried to convince you off, you were quite sure by now that Mattheo wasn’t going to ask you- which was fine. Really. It was absolutely fine with you. Except for the part where it wasn’t at all.

Maybe it was because Pansy had gotten your hopes up about this. Any time you had expressed your doubts about your friendship with Mattheo to her, she’d roll her eyes at you and tell you all sorts of things: how he’d been responsible for McLaggen’s unlucky incident that sent him to St Mungos after he had stood you up, how he would look at you with, as she put it, ‘a disgustingly lovesick stare’, how he would always find ways to bring you up in conversation when you weren’t around, his mind floating back to you regardless of the context, either stating or guessing what your opinion might be on the matter.

‘Honestly,’ she’d say, ‘That boy is so in love with you it’s embarrassing to sit next to. Like, truly appalling. And even worse to sit by while he always cops out of asking you out officially.’

But either way, whether what she was saying was true or a misguided guess, or a kind lie, you were quite sure he wouldn’t be making a move before Christmas. Did you really want to turn up without a date and watch him spend the night with some other girl dangling from his arm? He had enough of them at his disposal, in spite of his parentage or reputation. And, really, if he was doing these things in spite of your blatant signaling, in spite of being so weirdly territorial over you, you might as well go out with a guy that would tickle his nerves. See how he felt about that. As his arch-nemesis, Harry would certainly be ideal in that regard.

“You wanted Riddle to ask you, didn't you?” Hermoine’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, her gaze knowing as it rested on you.

You felt caught and sat up a little straighter. “...no.” Curse your denial to come out so hesitantly. But really, she was right. There had been nothing you had been more excited for than the possibility of going out with your best friend, back when the yule ball had been announced. And now, this.

Ron pointed an accusatory finger at you, frowning. “That was the least convincing no I’ve ever heard.”

Meanwhile, Ginny was giggling away at your side. “You so did,” she called your bluff and patted your leg in false pity.

With a long, desperate groan, you buried your face in your hands. “Ugh, shut up, please!”

But Ginny, still laughing, only marked her page with a bookmark and threw it aside onto a nearby table to turn her whole attention to you. “Merlin, this is so much better than my book!”

To quell all of their teasing at once - you could see Ron opening his mouth to add to your embarrassment and even Hermoine seemed to have something to say as she put away her parchment - you lifted your head from the palms of your hands and raised them to bring about silence. However, only your next words could get their attention. “Alright, alright, sure!” you called, face burning, “I’ll go with you, Harry.”

Whistling loudly, Ron earned himself a stern glare from Hermoine. When she had silenced his appreciative teasing, she turned to you, slightly frowning now. Meanwhile, Harry fisted the air, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ll be the best fake date you’ve ever had.”

These words did manage to make your lips twitch into a small smile. “That is not a very high bar, Harry.”

Still frowning worriedly, Hermoine, ever the voice of reason, leaned towards you and placed a hand on your leg. “You don’t have to say yes just because Harry is desperate, you know that, right?”

“Wow, thanks, Hermoine,” said Harry sarcastically from the side, but she ignored him. Hoping to calm her worries, you smiled at her.

If you were being truthful, you would admit that this wasn’t a purely altruistic move on your part. Actually, you were hoping for some benefit to come out of this arrangement for you, as well. Maybe you could finally figure out if Mattheo felt anything more for you than friendship, if you forced his hand by going with his biggest rival. But you would rather have Harry and the others think you were just doing your friend a favor, a far more noble motivation than these darker intentions.

But Ginny seemed to see right through you. “Oh, come on. We all know you’re just saying yes to make Riddle jealous,” she blatantly called you out, earning herself a round of chuckles as the blood rushed to your face.

“That’s not-” you lied, a blushing and embarrassed mess and probably very obvious. You had never been that good at lying, and at least Mattheo said that he appreciated it, being surrounded with a group of friends who were just as good at lying as seeing through the lies of others. That he felt less like he had to watch his every step with you. He liked your openness, and he found your blushing adorable, always pinching your cheeks when you did and only worsening your situation most of the time.

Ginny curled with laughter at your feeble attempts to hide your true attention. “It totally is, who are you trying to convince here?” she asked, amusedly and you breathed a long sigh. Why did all this have to be so complicated? Feelings and people and dances.

But at least Harry seemed to take mercy on you, which was the least he could do after you’d given into his desperate pleas. “Alright, it’s settled then,” he sounded over Ginny’s laughter, giving you a trusted smile, “You and me- two best mates, going to the ball together. No weirdness.”

“No weirdness,” you repeated, quite thankful.

But Ginny quirked a teasing brow at you. “Except for when Riddle inevitably loses his mind over it." The idea ignited a spark of hope in you that you immediately felt bad for. Of course you didn’t want to make Harry a pawn in your game- but it may have been a sacrifice you were willing to make. However, you certainly didn’t want to put him at risk of spending time in the hospital wing or anything. Which was not that far-fetched of a worry.

“Not my problem,” shrugged Harry at Ginny’s words and you bit down on your lip. “It might be.”

Your words had been but a quiet mutter, but Ginny picked up on them and grinned at you with an expression that eerily reminded you of Pansy at the prospect of some juicy new drama. “On a scale of one to absolute insanity, how bad do you think he’s gonna take it?”

Sighing deeply and wringing your hands in your lap, you gave her a sheepish look, trying not to glance at Harry when you said, “I’m hoping for mild irritation.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up until they almost reached her hairline. Harry, too, seemed quite skeptical, as he leaned against the couch and frowned up at you. “And expecting?”

A small smile tugged at your lips, but you weren’t in a mood for joking. “...Something between homicide and setting the entire venue on fire,” you replied, hesitantly but probably as a more realistic estimation of the prospects. Regardless of whether or not Mattheo liked you, he surely didn’t take kindly to any boy getting, in his opinion, too close to you-especially not the Chosen One, whom he’d been pitted against since the first time he’d set foot on the doorstep of the castle.

“So, about a nine?” asked Ron, chuckling, and making the rest of you laugh again. It resoilved some of the tension that had been lingering in the air, the knowledge of a looming confrontation. Leaning over to you with faux secrecy, Ron said, “Just don’t come crying to us when he inevitably drags you into some dark corridor for a dramatic argument.”

“She’s hoping for that,” smirked Ginny, rolling her eyes- if at you or at her brother, you weren’t sure. Honestly, both of you deserved it.

Suddenly, Harry stood up from the carpet and straightened out his shirt, grinning dowm at you. Again, he had a business-like air about him. “Alright, if we’re doing this. we’re doing it properly.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, chuckling at his sudden enthusiasm.

Harry tipped an imaginary hat. “If i have to face the wrath of Mattheo Riddle, I at least want to look good while doing it” All of you chuckled at his determination and Ginny whistled. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

The first day of the holidays brought the first proper snow of the winter. Overnight, the snowflakes had danced quietly onto the earth and had turned the castle grounds into a fairytale landscape. The dark forest was no longer a black but a white mass, somehow less threatening and more inviting. But who would have felt the desire to disappear into the trees when the castle was buzzing with warmth and christmas joy?

The excitement for the yule ball especially was apparent everywhere, as students stood in the courtyard, huddled together in groups against the cold, and discussed dress robes and hairstyles for the next day's evening. A blanket of snow lay thick upon the stone gargoyles as you passed them, trotting behind Harry and Ron with Hermoine by your side. Your crunching steps left footprints in the white, glistening layer as you listened to Harry and Ron how much cake they would need for the afterparty in the common room.

Reaching the protection of the castle wall, you stood together, shielded against the sharp winter winds, as Ron started to change the topic to the amounts of firewhiskey they could smuggle in. “The thing is,” he said with a fervor you could rarely spot with him in class-related situations. “The Slytherins have the best connections to the hogshead, so we had a bit of trouble even finding someone who would give us hard liquor. We tried pretending to be McGonnagall to trick Madam Rosmerta into sending some up to the castle, but I don’t think it worked because she didn’t answer our owl.”

“Have you considered to pass yourself off as a teacher a bit more… relaxed than Professor McGonnagall?,” you suggested, looking from Harry to Ron with an amused expression.

“She’s the only professor who’s writing I could mimic,” said Harry, shrugging. “You have connections in Slytherin, right? Maybe you could get us some firewhiskey.” Hermoine murmured something like a reasonable objection into her scarf, but there was a lenient glinting in her eyes when she looked at Ron, who suddenly seemed hopeful at the idea. For once, not overly critical of your other friendships.

“Nah,” you said, deriving a certain satisfaction from seeing their hopeful expressions crumble. “Get your own connections. I’m not catching shit from McGonnagall for being responsible for your alcoholism.”

“Says the one with the nicotine addicted whatever he is to you,” said Hermoine, arms crossed tightly over her chest for warmth, with a smile and you huffed out an amused chuckle, your breath swirling in transcendent forms in the air before mingling with theirs and fading.

“But you bring up a good point,” said Harry, “The real question is: how would we even get all of it past McGonnagall and up to Gryffindor tower? I mean, we could use the invisibility cloak, but-”

Abruptly, he fell silent, and just the split of a second later did you realize the reason why, when the familiar smell of cigarettes and leather alerted you, with pin-point accuracy, who the culprit of Harry’s sudden discontinuation was. A shadow loomed over the four of you, huddled into your corner, and the easy atmosphere shattered like glass. You did not need him to speak to know who it was.

“Mind if I steal her for a moment?”

Mattheo’s voice was low, edged with amusement, but laced with something else as well, something unreadable. Ron and Hermoine whipped around, sharply, at the sound of his voice, Ron stepping in front of her slightly, as if on instinct. However, you turned only reluctantly, already aware who you’d find standing there, but not knowing whether you were keen on talking to him and revealing the inevitable bomb that might set him off.

Mattheo was leaning against the castle wall, mere feet from you. His dark eyes flickered over your friends with a lazy kind of scrutiny, lips twitching when he caught the way Hermoine’s posture stiffened and Ron’s expression darkened. His gaze lingered on Harry for half a second longer than necessary. Harry straightened slightly, shoulders squaring, and shifted as if to protest, but before he could speak, Mattheo cut him off with an easy smirk and a tilt of his head. “Relax, Potter, I won’t bite.” His gaze flickered back to you, locking onto yours as his smirk shifted into something more… deliberate. “Unless you ask nicely.”

He extended a hand- not touching you, just gesturing you forward, but the implication was clear. The moment seemed to stretch, a thick tension settling in the chilly air, before you stepped away from the wall, brushing a bit of snow off your sleeve. Behind you, Hermoine let out a barely audible sound of disapproval, Ron muttered something, in all likelihood, rude under his breath and Harry shifted slightly in your field of vision, as if he wanted to step in. But you threw them a pleading look not to make a thing out of it and walked over to Mattheo’s side, raising your brows at him in silent inquiry.

His eyes studied your expression, before he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you away. With a last little smile to your friends, you told them goodbye and walked away with him, not registering the slow, smug glance Mattheo gave them over his shoulder as he turned with you towards the entrance.

But the castle didn’t seem to be his desired destination. Instead, he led you down the flight of stairs connecting the courtyard and the greenhouses, all the while silent. You stocked it up to his bad mood. In truth, it was nervosity.

Mattheo had been rolling it around in his head all night, ever since he’d watched you leave the common room last night, Theo's dark suggestion still ringing in his ears, the cursed images of you with Potter, of all people, still haunting him. He’d already given Pucey his piece of mind about him considering to ask you out, but he knew you would mind - a lot - if he had a go at Harry that was so clearly provocated by himself. Knowing you wouldn’t forgive him too easily if he rearranged Potter’s face just a few days before christmas, and considering the massive truthbomb that was the fact that he, in actuality, held no claim over you. Yet.

Finally, after staring at the ceiling stubbornly for a good few hours, making his way through what was left of his last pack of cigarettes and not getting a minute of sleep, he’d finally not only worked up the courage, but also the words to finally, finally ask. But now, as he led you down the icy stairs, vigilant you wouldn’t trip, both the nerve and the ability to articulate himself seemed to have left him. Maybe he should have gotten some sleep before this after all. Or consumed anything other than black coffee and nicotine before approaching you to ask you- possibly the only question that really mattered.

When you reached the greenhouses, he leaned against one of the glass walls, fogged up against the cold, hands buried in his coat pockets. Feeling nervous, you moved to stand on the bit of snow-covered grass in front of him, sneaking glances up at him, his furrowed brows, his clenched jaw. “So,” he said slowly, as if weighing every word, “About the ball.”

“Oh,” you made, swallowing. With a nervous little nod, you wrung your frost-bitten hands and looked up into his brown eyes, so beautiful against the cold white sky. They were surprisingly calm, given the news you thought would enrage him. Maybe it didn’t matter to him after all. “So you heard, then?”

But Mattheo tilted his head, incredulously. “Heard what, exactly?” Oh shit. Perplexedly, you blinked up at him, having assumed he would have heard by now through Enzo’s miraculous grapevines, and that that was the reason he had wanted a chat. “...that I’m going with Harry.”

Mattheo stilled, expression faltering for just a second before his jaw clenched- tight. His eyes, usually gleanming with lazy humour, darkened as they locked onto yours, the look in them almost making you take a step back before you could get your instincts back under control. “Potter?” he said, his voice deceptively calm, but you could see the way his fingers flexed, as if suppressing a sudden urge to clench them into fists. His tongue ran over his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose like he was trying to reel himself in.

Mattheo felt the words hit im like a slap, over and over again. That I’m going with Harry. I’m going with Harry. I’m going with Harry. They twisted something inside him, and it hurt, though he’d rather die than let it show. Potter. Out of all the people in this godforsaken castle, it had to be him. His jaw was locked as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral, but he could feel the tightness in his chest, the way his fingers flexed and twitched with the urge to grab you- to shake some sense into you.

You tilted your head and looked up at him with those nervous, pretty eyes of yours, an unsure, hesitant smile playing around your lips. “What other Harrys could I possibly be referring to?” you asked, in a feeble attempt to bring some humour into the situation, light up his face that was grim and tight, as if in shadow.

Mattheo wanted to laugh, to show you how utterly unaffected he was by this news, and at the same time, he burned to throw out some sharp, cutting remark about how predictable it was, how you must have lost your damn mind. But the words felt heavy in his throat. Because it was a perfectly sane decision. Going out with Potter was probably way more sensible than going out with him.

Instead, he leaned back slightly, rolling his shoulders as if the news didn't settle like lead in his stomach. “Didn’t know you were into charity work now,” he drawled, voice deceptively smooth, but there was a cutting edge to it, a sharpness that wasn’t usually there- or rather, was usually directed at everyone but you.

“You’re really going with that bastard?” he asked, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. Not even looking into your eyes could calm the storm raging inside him now, as it spread through every fibre of his body, balled in his chest, reached the tips of his fingers as they almost shook with suppressed rage. Now, they were just a reminder of what he couldn’t have.

Of course you’d go with Potter, why would you have even considered him? When people were already whispering behind your back about you and your friendship with him, calling you names and giving you looks, calling you a house traitor and shallow or two-faced, the irony not even occurring to them. But Merlin, how he hated, how he detested, how he loathed that Harry was, sensibly, a better option for you than he would ever be.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. He shouldn't even care. Since when had he let people get to him like this? But you weren't just anyone. You were you. You were his. And then again, you weren’t. And he shouldn’t be feeling this burning frustration curling in his chest, shouldn’t feel the itch in his fingers to grab your wrist and tell you to drop the whole fucking thing. But he did. And that pissed him off even more.

“He asked me as a friend,” you said, feeling the need to clarify. Why you had thought it would calm the storm raging in his eyes, you didn’t know, as a dry, sarcastic laugh fell from his lips, missing his usual casual teasing tone. “Oh, of course. Just friends.”

Your clueless frown only fueled his anger and he clicked his tongue impatient at you, taking some sick enjoyment in the way his glare made you recoil slightly. “Never taken you as naive before, sweetheart.” When he usually whispered the nickname, it was a flirty drawl, and accompanied by a teasing smirk, or just a casual, rare smile. Now, he spat it out, barely containing his frustration. But he wasn’t the only one irked by the other.

“Mattheo, I adore you,” you said firmly, frowning up at him, “But just because you’ve got a hidden motive behind everything doesn’t mean he has.” Trying to think of the right words, you bit down on your lower lip. “He just…”

“...didn’t find anyone as nice as you to take pity on him?” Mattheo finished your sentence, his brows raised with dry humor. You could tell he was trying to push your buttons now, deflecting from his own emotions by trying to get yours up, in an attempt to get the upper hand. Because with him, everything had to be a fight, a struggle, a confrontation.

Refusing to let him get to you, you crossed your arms over your chest and looked at him coolly. “Maybe I said yes because he actually asked me.”

Unexpectedly, his detached demeanor seemed to crack for just a second. Something shifted in his expression, flickering -or falling- before he got his features back under control. “Huh,” he made, and you were treated to the rare sight of Mattheo Riddle running out of words. His lips twitched grimly, brows furrowed.

Trying to stop him thinking of some sarcastic, meticulous provocation, you took a step towards him, your breath puffing in the air. “Yeah. Huh.”

Finally, an ironic smile forced itself upon his face, it almost seemed to pain him, as the way his nails dug into his palms had to. “So, you’re gonna spend the whole night batting your eyelashes at Mr. Gryffindor Golden Boy then?”

“Why do you care?” you asked quickly, trying to catch him off guard. Your eyes zeroed in on every twitch of his expression, looking for tell-tale signs- as he surely was, too. Was it platonic protectiveness and his disdain for his rival, Harry, or could it be jealousy? His eyes met yours, fiercely, his intense stare piercing you, and though your heart skipped a beat, you held his gaze, determined not to back down.

Mattheo leaned in slightly, getting close to your face with a mocking smile dancing around his lips. “I don’t,” he said with biting sarcasm. “I wish you the best of times with Potter.”

Scoffing, you averted your eyes. His proximity was suffocating, it was confusing, a round of sparks dancing in the pit of your stomach, so unlike the butterflies people always talked about. No, your love for him was explosive, it was brimming with glimmering tension, threatening to turn into a wildwire, expanding until it consumed you whole. And you’d burn gladly as long as you burned in his hold. “No, you don’t” you contered, looking back up to find him looking at you with such hunger in his brown eyes.

Mattheo grinned grimly, clicking his tongue in a way that could have drove you into a craze. “You’re right. Hope you trip in those ridiculous heels Pansy will make you wear.”

Pretending to be annoyed, you huffed out a long breath, caught somewhere in between amusement and exasperation. “You have no right to be mad, Mattheo.”

For a moment, the only sound between you was the distant howl of the wind in the courtyard archways above, the faint echo of laughter carried down to the greenhouses by the breeze as the truth of your words hung in the tense air between you. Mattheo was watching you, his jaw tight, his lips curved into that infuriating smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You could see it- how his amusement was forced, how something far more volatile simmered beneath the surface. His words from a second ago still hung between you, sharp-edged and taunting. “Who says I’m mad?”

Without thinking, you reached up, fingers curling around his jaw, your palm warm against the biting cold of his skin. His breath hitched- so soft, so fleeting you almost missed it- but his entire body went rigid, as if the contact had struck him like a spell. His dark eyes, always so unreadable, widened just slightly, caught between surprise and something else. You tilted his chin up just enough to meet his gaze fully, your thumb brushing over the sharp edge of his jaw, and then, with a voice quiet but unwavering, you murmured, “Your face.”

With a whiplash-inducing speed, his demeanor changed, his smirk turning seductive as he leaned into your touch, a disarming glint in his chocolate brown eyes. “And you’d no all about that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

It was unfair. He knew exactly how to tickle your nerves, and just when you’d thought you’d won the struggle for the upper hand, he flipped a card like this, completely taking you aback. The heat of your stomach seemed to rush into your cheeks and you glared at him, at the knowing look in his eyes. There was a reason he was in Slytherin. But there was also a reason you were in Gryffindor.

“I'll see you tomorrow at the ball,” you scoffed, frustrated, let go of his face and took a step back. You knew looking at him might make you turn back to either kiss or slap him, so you turned around sharply and stormed up the stairs back to the courtyard. He didn't follow you, but you could feel the burning piercing of his stare resting on your back.

Pansy’s dorm was alive with the flicker of enchanted candlelight, the air thick with the mingling scents of your perfumes, hairspray and the faintest trace of Pansy’s expensive vanilla-sandalwood lotion. You stood before her full-length mirror, smoothing your hands over the flowing green fabric of your dress as Pansy, perched on the edge of the bed, tilted her head in assessment. “Honey, you look absolutely gorgeous,” she concluded, rising from the bed to walk over to you and arrange the dress in areas.

Her's was already wrapped around her figure, complementing her curves. You tugged at the neckline of yours, unsure of how much cleavage you were showing. In the shop, it had somehow seemed less risque, though it had still been more than you would usually be comfortable with. “Are you sure?”

Halting her prodding movements and tugs, Pansy straightened up and rested her head on your shoulder, smirking at you through the mirror with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Am I sure you look gorgeous or that Mattheo will like it?”

The blush that shot up into your cheeks would have made any rouge unnecessary. “Pansy!” you hissed, glaring at her, but she only laughed and lifted her head from your shoulder to turn you away from the mirror and to her, for further inspection.

“Don’t worry,” she said, for once with a sincere look on her face and a warm smile gracing her lips. “He will fall in love with you all over again and beat Potter to death before he can even get a hand onto your waist.” Her eyes glinted. “At least after I’m done with your hair.”

In spite of her reassuring words, you let your critical eyes wander over your figure in the mirror as Pansy sat you down on a chair. Her fingers carded into your hair, brushing it out and parting it into sections as she got to work on pinning it up in elegant ways. Brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers worked as if she’d done it a million times before. You scanned her frowning face in the mirror's reflection, rolling her words over in your mind. Pansy was one of your best friends, she wouldn’t lie to you, but-

“Pans?” you asked into the quiet, making her hum in response and raise her brows at you. You opened your mouth, lips parted to beg for further reassurance- but you closed them again, swallowing. It wasn’t like they would convince you, not after having heard her constant encourages for months and never truly having believed them. Or had you? Was it the reason you were so disappointed about Mattheo not asking you out, like you felt you could expect it of him after all Pansy had told you? “Thanks,” you finally said.

Your defeated tone seemed to catch her attention as her eyes snapped up to meet yours in the mirror’s reflection. She frowned. “You know, for someone who’s got a date tonight, you don’t look very excited.”

“I am excited,” you lied, giving her a tense little smile she saw right through.

With raised brows, she got back to putting your hair up with a mix of barrettes, hairspray, and magic. “Mhm, try saying that again without sounding like you’re in mourning.” With a promising little smile, she nudged your shoulder. “I promise you the evening will still get rather exciting for you, even if Potter’s a bore.”

You sighed, unable to hold onto the words any longer as your hands clasped in your lap. “You always try to convince me that he likes me,” you said, without saying the name you were trying to avoid, because it was such a sinful pleasure to let it flow off your tongue, like a kid mumbling a curse word under the protection of its blanket, just to try out the sound of it. A forbidden sound, the promise of freedom. Why was it so hard to say his name, after you’d said it so many times these past few months? In scolding tones, in warning tones, in teasing tones, in affectionate tones. Most of the times, it was the latter- most of the time, he returned your name in the same way.

As you thought of the right way to express the confusion you felt over his actions, Pansy waited, sielntly, and delivered the last, finishing touches to your hair. “If he likes me, why didn’t he ask me?” you finally asked, simple enough.

The question made her sigh and roll her eyes as her perfectly manicured hands clasped down on your thinly clad shoulders. “Because he’s an idiot and a coward. Just like you. Don’t tell him I said that.” You returned her encouraging smile, though still feeling rather pessimistic. Pansy patted your shoulder. “Honestly, since when has Mattheo known to handle his feelings?”

“Fair point,” you sighed, as she released you and walked over to her desk, to her other mirror, displaying her makeup on the surface. As she started to put hers on, you opened your bag as well and got out what you needed, making sure to get none on your dress. For a few minutes, you worked in silent concentration, the quiet only broken by laughter and shouts from the Slytherin common room.

Because she’d insisted on helping you with your hair, you’d agreed to get ready with Pansy in her dorm on the big evening. You had been here for an hour, chatting, trying on each other’s dresses, flipping through magazines for hair and makeup inspiration. Now, it was only an hour until the start of the ball, and the excitement that brimmed in the whole castle even reached the Slytherin dorms in the dungeons. When you’d hurried through it with Pansy, the common room had been devoid of its usual calm and had rather reminded you of the Gryffindor common room on a rowdy saturday, with students mingling and mixing, chatting in excited voices, their anticipation barely contained behind their Slytherin coolness.

Pansy’s voice cut through your meandering thoughts, snapping you back to reality as you started to apply mascara. “When did you tell him, anyway? That you’re going with Potter?”

“Yesterday,” you answered, leaning forward to examine your work in detail. “Why?”

Even through her distant reflection in the mirror, you could distinctly make out her sudden smirk, pulling at her now full and red looking lips. “Oh, nothing,” she warbled innocently, though she looked as if she’d just unraveled a particularly thrilling christmas present. Her glinting eyes locking on your expression as she closed the lid on her lipstick was like a mouse trap snapping shut. “Just… Have I mentioned Mattheo has been a complete nightmare since yesterday?”

You paused mid lipgloss application to meet her eyes through the mirror, her words sinking in and coiling in the pit of your stomach. “...What?” you asked, trying not to sound too eager for her to expand on these seductive words.

Pansy grinned, turning to her mirror to deliver some last finishing touches to her face. “Oh, darling. He’s livid.”

“Why would he be livid?” you asked, frowning, getting back to your lipgloss. “It’s not like he cares.”

Pansy’s mock gasp told you she was not at all convinced by your reasoning- nor fooled by the false indifference in your voice. But she gave into your silent need for answers anyway, a knowing smile on her lips. “Oh, sure, that’s why he nearly hexed Enzo for breathing too loudly this morning.” She corrected the blend of her eyeshadow, enjoying the effect her words had on you. “Honestly, I should be mad at you for causing such an unbearable mood in our common room, but it’s just too entertaining.”

“I didn’t cause anything,” you deflected grumpily, glaring at your own reflection as if it were him, trying to convince yourself, trying not to let Pansy get your hopes up again and, at the same time, yearning for something to grasp onto. “Whatever’s got to him, I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with me.”

Making an unconvinced sound, Pans angled her face differently to admire it in different lighting. “Tell that to the poor first-year who had a nervous breakdown yesterday when Mattheo snapped at him for existing.”

“What?” you snapped sharply, frown deepening. Unfazed, Pansy rose from her seat and walked over to you, swaying her hips as she met your eyes in the mirror. You sighed at the grin on her face, getting back to applying your makeup. “He can be mad all he wants, it doesn’t change the facts.” Right. It changed nothing. You shouldn’t even care.

Pansy raised her perfectly lined brows at your attempts to seem indifferent. “Then why are you applying your lipgloss for the third time?” Before you could answer, she grabbed the lipgloss out of your hands, closed it and threw it back into your back. With a pull that left no room for protest, she tugged you up and towards the door. “You look fantastic. Come on, let’s get you out and about so you can meet your Chosen One up at Gryffindor tower.”

As you walked down the steps and stepped into the common room, your heart began to thrum in your chest at the realization that he’d probably be there. That he’d see you. In this dress. For a moment, you wished you’d gotten one with a more modest neckline, but then again, you burned to see his reaction.

It was as if you already felt it on the bottom step, as Pansy urged you into the common room. His presence, and then, the weight of his stare as you spotted him leaning against one of the leather couches beside Theo, dressed in, for once, unsullied dress robes. His gaze locked and you, your figure, and the tension in the air seemed thick enough to choke on.

Mattheo hadn’t even been looking, let alone waiting for you. At least that was what he told himself. But the moment the sound of heels clicking against the stone steps echoed through the common room, his body betrayed him. His fingers, lazily spinning a silver ring around his knuckle, stilled. His jaw clenched. And when he finally glanced up, just like he swore he wouldn’t, it was like taking a hit straight to the ribs.

You were stunning. Not just in the way that made his breath catch, but in the way that made his stomach twist, made something dark coil in his chest. Because you weren’t dressed for him. And yet, his first thought was that you should’ve been. His expression didn’t change, smirk perfectly in place, body draped in his usual lazy confidence- but his grip on his ring tightened, his throat felt dry, and he had to physically stop himself from shifting toward you. He knew the moment your eyes met his, you’d notice something in his stare, something raw, something dangerous. So he looked away first. Just for a second. Just long enough to breathe.

A thrill ran through you when your eyes met his, sharp and electric. He was still lounging in that infuriatingly effortless way, all cocky smirks and feigned disinterest, but you knew better. You saw it—the clench in his jaw, the way his fingers had gone stiff around that damn silver ring. The way his gaze flickered, just barely, before snapping back to you like he hadn’t meant to look away at all.

The other boys had now taken notice of your presence as well. Charming compliments rolling off his lips like the finest vinegar, Blaise made his way towards Pansy, who smirked him off and locked her arm with yours, telling him something about just having perfected her look and getting you out of here before someone choked on their own spit. But your eyes were still locked on Mattheo, as if there was a magnetic pull attracting them that rendered you unable to avert your gaze.

Only Pansy’s gentle nudges and tugging moved your feet towards the entrance wall, as if on autopilot, and only her whispered voice as she leaned in could cut through the rushing in your ears. “Alright, what’s the plan for tonight when Mattheo inevitably corners you at the ball?”

Anxious for none of the boys to overhear you, you leaned in closer, muttering, “... Ignore him?”

Pansy scoffed at your suggestion, rolling her eyes with a little smirk. Gently, she nudged your side and lifted her brows at you. “Adorable. Wrong, but adorable.”

You sighed, reaching the entrance to the common room and turning to her for a brief goodbye. You had to physically restrain yourself from looking back at Mattheo, who’s gaze you could feel burning into your skin, a silent dare to look back, walk back, to him. But you wouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter,” you tried to convince yourself more than you tried to convince Pansy. “I’m with Harry tonight. End of story.”

But Pansy seemed unimpressed by your stubborn conviction. A promising smirk graced her lips as she tilted her head towards Mattheo subtly. “Oh, honey. This story is just getting started.”

a/n: stay tuned for part b 🫶 | if anyone would like to get tagged for part b who isn't already in the general or mattheo tag list, leave a comment!

taglist: @lady-peiskos @hazeldunst @juliet-017 @furioussharkcat @onlytenkos @jannie-belaerys @blueflowerpots @whosyourgnomie @revesephemeres @longpondlibrary @aespaslut @s00ty-feet @cosplayboi18 @messageforthesmallestman @iamheretoread1234 @devilsadvcte @jolly4holly @deeplyinlovewithfluffbullshit

#slytherin boys x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader #slytherin boys #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo x reader #mattheo smut #mattheo riddle #mattheo #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheoxreader #mattheo x you #mattheo fluff #mattheo imagine #mattheo angst #mattheo series

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girlrotterr · 7 months ago

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— "𝘚𝛨𝛦 𝛭𝐼𝐺𝛨𝑇 𝛮𐒆𝑇 𝐿𐒆𐒆𝛫 𝐿𝐼𝛫𝛦 𝘚𝛨𝛦 𝐺𝛦𝑇𝘚 𝛣𝐼𝑇𝐶𝛨𝛦𝘚."

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: ellie williams x reader

𝘚𝑌𝛮𐒆𝑃𝘚𝐼𝘚: streamer!ellie headcanons

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose bad posture is only made worse by the massive gaming headset permanently denting her hair. By the end of each stream, there’s a wild, flattened patch on her head. Chat’s constantly telling her to take a break, but she just grins, shaking her head with a stubborn “This is the look, trust.” ignoring the fact that her neck is basically molded to fit the headset

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose mic is almost as old as her setup, hanging off a stand with a few screws loose. It crackles with static if she yells too loudly, but she refuses to upgrade.

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose webcam glitches, freezing her mid-sentence in the least flattering positions, like mid-eye roll or tongue out. She’ll smack the side of her screen, muttering. “Oh, fucking come on!”

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose desk is a mess of clutter: tangled cords, stray stickers, and half-finished doodles scattered across the surface. Chat is obsessed with trying to guess what all the random junk is, especially when something odd slips into frame—like an old action figure with a missing arm or an unopened can of Spam.

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie who leans back in her chair, stretching out her arms with a carefree sigh, her hair falling messily over her face. When suddenly, the camera catches a glimpse of her strap-on, casually hanging out in the corner of the screen.

"IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?!?!

"DAWG NO WAYYY"

"NO WAY BRO GETS ANY TYPE OF PLAY!!"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose chat’s favorite pastime is mocking her everytime she gets cocky. She’ll brag like, “Watch this fucking clutch.” only to immediately fumble, staring straight into her webcam, deadpaned. The chat spamming with messages like:

"JUST UNINSTALL BRO"

"HOW TF IS SHE THIS BAD?!?!"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whose quick to pick up on any kid’s attitude in the game. The second she hears a high-pitched “You’re trash!” she instantly counters, “YOUR DADS STROKE GAME IS TRASH!” She’ll sit there grinning, hyping herself up as the kids try to come back with more insults. Chat’s losing it, spamming, "BRO HE'S 12?!?!"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whenever in the heat of a game, her brows furrow, her jaw sets, and the chat braces for impact. When she misses a shot, her frustrated yell reverberates, echoing through thin walls that neighbors are definitely complaining about. “I’m never playing this shit again!” Spolier: She always plays it again.

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie whenever she’s roped into playing with Abby, her chat lights up with anticipation. Abby always manages to take her down, which only amps up her muttered curses and exaggerated sighs. “I WAS FUCKING LAGGING” she yells, while her chat’s ablaze with "IM CRYINGGGFF" and "ELLIES ACUTAL FUCKING CHEEKS BRO" Abby barely has to try; one word and Ellie’s thrown off, dropping all her ammo in the wrong place.

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie when you show up in her game lobby, she clears her throat, trying to play it smooth. She lowers her voice a full octave, attempting some kind of “cool” introduction. But the chat? They’re absolutely losing it.

"DID ELLIE JUST TURN INTO A FUCKING MAN?!"

"I CANNOTTFF!!"

"PLEASE ELLIE UR EMBARRASSING"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie always tries to play it smooth by making some bold promise, like, “Stick with me, and we’ll clutch this.” But then she immediately gets taken out. Chat explodes, throwing in every possible roast, like, "BRO ELLIE PACK IT THE FUCK UP" and "THE HOES ARE RUNNING"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie who, by the end of the stream, knows you’re still there in chat. So a quick, stumbling sentence slips out, “Uh, if you...you know, ever wanna game or whatever, just hit me up.”

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie when you send over your Instagram, she freezes, her in-game character getting KO’d. But she’s too hyped to care. She jumps out of her chair, nearly flipping it backward, screaming into her mic, “BRO, BRO, BRO, NO WAY—LETS GOOOO!!” She starts pacing, muttering, “CHAT, ARE WE SEEING THIS!?.”

The Chat’s blowing up like:

"WWWWW!!!!"

"OKAY ELLIE WE SEEE YOUUU!!"

"THERE'S ABSOLUETLY NO WAYYY"

"BROOO!??!?!"

and she’s just laughing, all out of breath.

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie who’s bouncing in her seat, half-yelling at her monitor, “FUCKK ” She’s pointing at your handle in her chat, looking dazed, like she’s still trying to process it. Her hands are shaking, and she’s practically yelling over her poor-quality mic, “I FUCKING DID THAT CHAT!” Chat’s spamming, "PLEASEEE SHE'S DOING CHAIRTY WORK ELLIE" and "NAHH THATS DEFINITELY AI"

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie who’s too hyped to even hear the first few bangs on her door. But then, it’s like her soul leaves her body. “dude, what was that?” She leans closer to the mic, whispering like her neighbors can’t still hear her, “um… chat…?” Chat’s flooding with "NUHHH UHHH" and "AWWWW SHITTT" and she’s just grinning, trying to stifle a laugh. “Alright, hold on, lemme go check”

✧⁺ — Streamer!Ellie where a moment later, she comes back into frame holding a piece of paper up to the webcam: an eviction notice. She stares at the camera, lips pressed into a thin line as chat explodes, crying.

"NO WAYYYYY!!!!?!??!?!"

"SENDING YOU JOB APPLICATIONS"

"IM FUCKING CRYINGFFFF"

"UR GONNA HAVE TO SELL THAT STRAP"

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littlelamy · 3 months ago

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title: rafe's personal playboy bunny

warnings: 18+, smut

background: before moving to obx with your best friend, you were featured in a small playboy spread. when rafe found out about your past gig, he decided he needed to take some photos of his own.

the first purchase was a camera. top of the line, mirrorless, sleek in his hands like it belonged there. he spent too long in the store testing lenses, zooming in and out, asking questions he already knew the answers to. but it wasn’t just about the camera—it was about the setup, the lighting, the fucking vision he had in his head of you spread out and glistening under a spotlight, looking like something out of a magazine, but better. raw. real.

then came the tripods, the softboxes, the LED panels. he wanted precision, control over every shadow and highlight. you weren’t just a girl in front of his camera. you were a masterpiece he was going to create, frame by fucking frame. he tested angles in his room before even bringing you into it, adjusting the height, the placement, imagining the way the light would kiss your skin, the way the shadows would carve out every perfect line of you.

by the time he called you in, the room was transformed. not just a bedroom anymore, but a set. the walls lined with blackout curtains, the bed pushed to the center like a stage, soft sheets rumpled just enough to look inviting. and then, there was the table—laid out with more than just camera equipment. a collection of toys, sleek and glistening under the studio lights, each one carefully chosen. he wanted to see you use them, wanted to capture everything.

“strip,” he said, adjusting the focus, not even looking at you yet. the camera clicked as you peeled away your clothes, the sound sending a jolt of heat straight through you. his voice was low, measured, but you could hear the edge to it, the hunger buried beneath control. “slow. take your time.”

he guided you, not with touch, but with words. told you where to sit, how to arch, where to let your hands wander. the camera clicked with every motion, freezing you in time, making you immortal in pixels. and then, his voice dipped lower, dark amusement curling around each word. “pick one.”

your eyes flicked to the table. so many choices. some familiar, some new. you hesitated, and he caught it, a smirk tugging at his lips as he zoomed in, the lens capturing every little flicker of anticipation across your face. “don’t be shy now. you posed for strangers before, didn’t you? this is just for me.”

heat coiled in your stomach as you reached out, fingers grazing over the cool surface of a toy before wrapping around it. the moment you held it up, the camera clicked again, a satisfied hum escaping him. “good girl,” he murmured, stepping closer, adjusting the angle. “now show me how you use it.”

his voice guided you, steady, unwavering, the authority in it making your breath hitch. “start slow,” he instructed, eyes never leaving the viewfinder. “press it to your skin first. tease yourself.”

you obeyed, trailing it over your thighs, over the soft dip of your stomach, your lips parting when you felt the first shiver of pleasure. the camera clicked. “yeah, just like that. drag it lower.”

his breath was audible, heavy through the silence, the sound of the camera shutter filling the space between you. “spread your legs wider. let me see everything.”

your pulse pounded as you followed his orders, your fingers trembling slightly as you brought the toy exactly where he wanted it. the moment it pressed against you, a sharp inhale echoed from behind the lens. “fuck, that’s beautiful. turn it on.”

the vibration jolted through you, and the camera caught the exact second your mouth fell open, your eyes fluttering shut. “keep them open,” he reminded you. “look right at me. let me see what it does to you.”

his commands were precise. “circle it. slower. now press it in—yeah, just like that, princess.” the camera clicked with every change in your expression, capturing the way your brows knitted, the way your lips trembled. “use your other hand,” he murmured. “play with your tits. make it pretty for me.”

heat coiled tight in your stomach as you did exactly as he said, teasing and touching as he dictated, the pleasure intensifying with each passing second. the room was nothing but the sounds of the toy, your own soft gasps, and the rhythmic snap of the shutter as he immortalized every filthy moment.

“push it deeper,” he ordered, voice thick. “fuck yourself on it.”

you whimpered at the words, legs shaking as you moved the toy in and out, every motion perfectly timed to his direction. “yeah, just like that,” he praised, the camera still clicking. “God, you’re gorgeous honey.”

he didn’t stop until he had everything he wanted. until you were spent, trembling, and completely undone beneath the heat of his lens, captured forever in a way only he would ever see.

tags: @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl

#rafey ᘚ #littlelamyposts༄࿔#dividers from plum98 #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe #rafe cameron x reader

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hellobykittys · 7 months ago

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𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✦ 𝐋𝐍⁴

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend just returned from a Triple Header, and after weeks apart, all you wanted was some attention and affection. But he, on the other hand, seemed more interested in his online games than spending time with you. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. PAIRING: Lando Norris x Reader! Girlfriend. WARNING: cockwarming and explicit scenes. WC: 0.9k

MASTERLIST | THE (IM)PERFECT PLAN SERIE

It had been weeks since you and Lando had a decent moment together. Between the chaos of a Triple Header and endless traveling, he was finally back home after more than three weeks away. You'd spent days envisioning this reunion: a cozy couch, a romantic movie, maybe a few glasses of wine, and, hopefully, something… more intimate.

But, of course, Lando had other plans—plans that involved a computer, headphones, and loud laughter with Max during a gaming livestream. He was sunk into his gaming chair, fully absorbed, while you were sprawled out on the living room couch, pretending to care about some random TV show.

Not that you wanted to be that girlfriend who complained about her boyfriend’s hobbies. You knew gaming was Lando’s way of unwinding, something he genuinely enjoyed. But… would it kill him to give you a little attention after you’d spent weeks counting down the days until he got back? You had spent a few hours together earlier in the day, but apparently, for him, that was more than enough. For you? Not even close.

Taking a deep breath, you decided it was time to do something about it.

You got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. Opening the fridge to grab a can of soda, you could still hear Lando and Max’s laughter echoing through the house. They were debating something about “that camper guy in the middle of the map”—whatever that meant. You rolled your eyes with a small smile. Men.

Back in the living room, you stopped at the doorway to Lando’s gaming setup.

“Babe?” you called out sweetly, hoping that would be enough to get his attention.

Nothing. He raised a hand in a “one-minute” gesture without even glancing away from the screen.

Okay. So he wasn’t going to make this easy.

You climbed onto Lando’s lap, sitting face-to-face with him, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. It was the perfect position—not just to be close but also to stir up a little mischief.

“Lando, I missed you…” you murmured, drawing out the words as you shifted ever so slightly on his lap. The movement seemed innocent enough, but both of you knew it wasn’t.

He took one hand off the keyboard and placed it firmly on your waist, halting your motions.

“I missed you too, love,” he replied, trying to keep his focus on the screen. “But please, stay still, alright?”

“Okay!” you chirped with mock obedience, which he clearly picked up on but chose to ignore.

You managed to behave… for about three minutes. Then, you started shifting again, sliding gently against him, testing his patience.

“Y/N…” His tone was firm, though you caught the trace of amusement at the end. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to move you.”

“But I just want to spend time with you, please!” you pouted playfully, resting your head on his shoulder and inhaling his familiar, comforting scent.

Lando sighed deeply, as if gathering every ounce of his self-control.

“Then behave,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, though still laced with warning.

Of course, you ignored him. You leaned in closer, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck while continuing your teasing movements, this time more deliberately.

“Y/N…” he started, but his voice sounded different now—lower, drawn out, almost like a groan. “What are you trying to do?”

You smiled against his skin, thrilled by how easily you could make him unravel.

“Nothing… I’m just enjoying my boyfriend, who I missed so much,” you replied with a playful edge, feigning innocence while keeping up your game.

Lando shut his eyes briefly, clearly trying not to lose control.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he said, finally abandoning the keyboard and turning all his attention to you.

His hands slid to your waist, and in one swift move, he lifted your skirt and pushed your underwear to the side. When his fingers brushed against your heat, he immediately noticed the state you were in.

“So desperate already, huh?” he asked with a smirk. “Three weeks apart, and you turn into a needy little thing.”

“Lan,” you whimpered, his name slipping out like a plea. “I need you.”

“I’ll let you have a little fun,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “But only if you behave and don’t move.” He began lowering his shorts and boxers, freeing himself. “When I’m done with this game, I promise you’ll get all the attention you’re craving. Got it?”

“Okay, I promise I’ll stay still,” you breathed out, far too needy to argue.

Lando positioned himself at your entrance, easing into you slowly. The moment he was fully inside, you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips.

“Now you’re going to have to stay quiet,” he instructed, his voice firm as his eyes flicked back to the screen. “I’m hopping back on with the guys.”

You nodded, too full of him to form a coherent reply.

“Sorry, guys,” Lando said into the mic, sounding casual despite the situation. “Y/N just needed some help with something.”

And so the match went on, with you obediently staying still for once, too desperate for the attention he promised to risk disobeying.

#f1 #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula one #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #ꮺ ۪ ࣪ i'm just ɑ girl ⋆𐙚

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v6quewrlds · 2 months ago

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NEVER TOO MUCH, CHARLES LECLERC.

pairing⠀⁎⠀charles leclerc x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀4.1k.

summary⠀⁎⠀being apart from charles is difficult enough. being apart from Charles while he's miserable on the other side of the world is worse.

author's note⠀⁎⠀requested by @xolilyxo! used this as an excuse to practice my french pls don't be mean if it's incorrect lmao <3 warnings⠀⁎⠀none, just grumpy charles & fluff!

Charles was absolutely miserable. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and his body felt like it had been wrung out and hung up to dry. The relentless humidity of Singapore had made it impossible for him to get comfortable in his racing suit, and the constant up and down of the weekend was weighing on him. With Ferrari's recent momentum over the last few races, he came into Singapore hoping for a podium, maybe even a win. But so far, everything had gone wrong.

The car was not responding as expected, and he was lagging behind the other drivers. Each corner was a battle, each straight a struggle. His mind raced faster than his car, thinking of what he could've done differently, what setup changes could be made, and how he would explain his performance to the press that was inevitably eager to rip him to shreds.

To make matters worse, you, his girlfriend, weren't there to offer her usual comfort and support. He'd been looking forward to seeing your smiling face in the stands, cheering him on, but your work commitments had held you back. The two of you had talked briefly over FaceTime, your gentle voice a balm to his frayed nerves, but it wasn't the same as having you there, your hand in his, your belief in him, carrying him through the toughest moments. Even as everything seemed to fall apart, you remained steadfast with your encouragement, reminding him of his strengths, and assuring him that you knew he could turn it around.

He was aware his team wasn't having a good time in Singapore either; mostly due to his mood. The mechanics worked tirelessly, sweat dripping from their faces as they tried to figure out the issues with the car. His engineers were equally as stressed, poring over data, trying to find that elusive solution. Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around him, though he couldn't find it in himself to care. He knew he was being a nightmare to deal with, but he couldn't help it. The pressure was crushing him, and he didn't have access to the valve to relieve it.

You cursed under your breath, your eyes glued to your phone screen, propped up by a stack of binders and papers. You had previously promised yourself you'd just watch a few moments of Free Practice 2, just enough to get an idea of how Charles was doing, then you'd get right back to work, but you hadn't been able to tear yourself away. You saw him fighting the car, the frustration in his voice echoing through your headphones whenever the broadcast allowed a snippet of his comms. The crash was sudden, jolting you out of your chair. Your heart plummeted as the screen showed the wreckage of the #16 Ferrari. You felt cold despite the warmth of your cardigan.

After what felt like an eternity, you saw Charles climb out, visibly fuming but uninjured. You released a sigh of relief, your hand flying to your chest as if to keep your racing heart in place. That's when the idea struck you, a wild, slightly mad idea, but it grew roots in your mind. You had to go to him, you had to be there. If you could get all your work done tonight, maybe you'd be able to make it to Singapore in time for qualifying. Without a second thought, you began typing away on your laptop. You could sleep on the plane, you'd do anything to be by his side.

Your fingers flew over the keys, sending emails, finishing up reports, and delegating tasks to your colleagues. The office grew quiet as the hours ticked by, and the last few lights started to dim as your coworkers called it a night. But not you. You were fueled by adrenaline and love, your eyes never leaving your screen except for brief glances at the clock. The minutes turned to hours, and the glow of your laptop cast the only light in the otherwise darkened room.

Finally, with a click of the send button, you leaned back in your chair, the tension draining from your body. You had done it. Now, you had to pack. You created a checklist in your mind as you made the drive to your apartment. Quickly, you showered and changed into comfortable travel clothes. You packed your luggage, selecting only the most important items, knowing you'd need to be efficient with your carry-on.

At the airport, you checked your phone for any updates from Charles. There were two new messages.

Today was shit. But thank you for asking. Two days left in this nightmare.

I can't wait to be home, mon amour. Your voice notes are the only thing keeping me from going crazy.

The text from Charles was heart-wrenching, his misery clear even through the screen, and it was all the motivation you needed to keep moving. You checked in your luggage, boarded your flight, and hoped for the best. The hours passed slowly, a mix of movies, snacks, and the occasional nod off into fitful sleep. You dreamed of his arms around you, of whispered encouragements, and, oddly, the smell of burning rubber and gasoline that always lingered around him after a day on the track.

When the plane finally touched down in Singapore, the early morning light was already harsh. You made your way through the airport, adrenaline pushing back the weariness that threatened to consume you. The threat of being photographed at the track was your only incentive to change into a more presentable dress. The open-back maxi-length burgundy material of your summer dress clung to your torso, its square neck making room for the delicately stacked necklaces you had chosen before flowing into a loose skirt with crisscrossing detail across your back. Your hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, your makeup minimal but just enough to hide the dark circles under your eyes.

You grabbed your phone, checking the time again. You had to hurry. The hospitality suite was your first destination, the secret mission making your heart race. The walk to the track from the hotel was a blur of excitement and nerves. The buzz of activity grew louder as you approached the paddock, the sound of engines revving in the background like a symphony of power. You spotted Mia, Charles' press officer, and your heart skipped a beat.

"Ah, you! Charles said you couldn't make it!" exclaimed Mia when she saw you, her eyes lighting up with surprise and relief. You exchanged kisses to the cheeks, a familiar greeting, and Mia's smile grew wider as she took in the sight of the woman who singularly had the power to turn their weekend around.

"I wasn't supposed to. He doesn't know I'm here," you whispered, your eyes sparkling with excitement. You watched as Mia's expression shifted from surprise to pure glee. "But I had to come. Every time I've spoken to him, he's sounded so… miserable. How is he today? Did he manage to get some rest last night?"

Mia rolled her eyes. "He's been a nightmare. I'm honestly surprised he hasn't snapped anyone's head off yet," she said with a laugh. "But seriously, he needs you. He's been so hard on himself, and his mood has been affecting everyone." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "I'll make sure to keep your secret until he can see you. He should be in the private area until it comes time to prepare quali strategy."

With a nod of thanks, you made your way through the bustling paddock, your sandals clicking on the pavement as you tried to stay calm. You felt like a spy on a mission, your heart racing every time you heard someone speak French in passing. Finally, you reached the Ferrari hospitality suite and slipped in unnoticed. You caught your reflection in a mirror and took a deep breath, smoothing down your dress and running your fingers over your hair to make sure everything was in place. This was it.

He stood in Ferrari merch, the muscles in his back tense as his voice carried through the suite. He was speaking in rapid French, his gestures animated. You knew that tone in his voice, knew that he was venting his frustration. You took a moment to appreciate him from afar, the way his rosso corsa polo clung to his broad shoulders and the way his thick, messy brown hair stuck up in all directions as a result of the humidity. His back was turned to you, and you took a step closer, your heels clicking softly on the tiles.

Fred stood in front of his driver, his arms crossed over his chest as he nodded solemnly, listening to Charles' concerns. As you approached, you could just make out the dark circles under Fred's eyes, a testament to the sleepless nights they had all endured. The scent of engine oil and rubber filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of espresso that seemed to follow the team wherever they went.

The Frenchman's eyebrows rose as he took in the sight of you approaching his driver quietly. You lifted your index finger to your lips, signaling him to keep the surprise. He nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips, and backed away slightly to give you a moment of privacy.

Charles continued ranting, oblivious to the soft footsteps approaching from behind. The heat and stress had painted a picture of a man on the edge, his body language shouting his dissatisfaction. Finally, you were close enough. You reached out, your hand pressing gently against his back, between his shoulder blades.

"Cha, tu as besoin d'un verre d'eau?" you asked sweetly, the French words leaving your glossed lips imperfectly but with enough charm to melt through Charles' frustration.

"Non, merci, je suis bon," Charles responded without looking up from his conversation with Fred, his voice clipped and frustrated.

He opened his mouth to continue speaking but was cut off as the realization of who had just spoken to him hit him. His body stiffened and he spun around, his eyes widening when he saw you standing there. For a brief moment, the chaos of the garage, the weight of his performance woes, and the oppressive heat of Singapore all faded away. He was simply stunned.

He exclaimed your name, his voice cracking with a mix of surprise and relief. He stepped toward you, and you met him halfway, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him softly. His arms tightened around your waist, lifting you slightly off the ground, and the tension drained from his body as he returned the kiss with desperate passion.

You laughed as he finally set you down, the sound music to his ears. "You really weren't expecting me?" you said, your eyes sparkling.

"I had no idea," he replied, a grin tugging at his lips. "But you were right, I could use some water." He cupped your face in his hands, giving you one last kiss before breaking away. "Je suis tellement content que tu sois ici," he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek as he voiced his appreciation for your surprise.

Fred clapped his hands together, joy erupting from his eyes. "Well, it looks like you will be busy until the strategy meeting," he said with a knowing smile before giving you a nod of approval. "Deux heures, Charles," he reminded him of the time left until the team's pre-qualifying meeting as he walked away, leaving you and Charles in the quiet corner of the hospitality suite.

"How did you manage this?" Charles asked, still in disbelief, pulling you into a hug that felt like home.

You chuckled against his chest. "An all-nighter and a very early flight," you replied, your voice muffled by the fabric of his Ferrari polo. You stepped back, your hands sliding over his shoulders as his hands found your waist. "But it was worth it to see your face."

"I can't believe you're here," Charles said, his eyes searching yours. He leaned in for another kiss, the kind that made your toes curl, and you responded with all the love you’d been saving up over your week apart.

"I missed you," you murmured, your cheek against his. "I know this weekend has been hell for you. I had to come be with you."

He sighed, his arms tightening around you. "Merci, mon cœur. It means the world to me." He pulled back to look into your eyes, his verdant gaze filled with a mix of gratitude and love. "Would you like my room key? I can take you to the suite; you can rest a bit."

"I'm fine," you assured him, your smile genuine and soothing. "I've had plenty of coffee. I'd rather spend every minute with you before you go out there."

You sat together in the suite, the air-conditioning bringing relief from the sticky, heavy Singaporean heat outside. The TV screens around you were muted, displaying the endless loops of yesterday's spins and today's qualifying preparations. Charles pulled your legs into his lap, his strong hands rubbing the tension from your calves as he talked about the car, his voice revealing a mix of frustration and dedication. You listened intently, nodding here and there, your fingers playing with the brown locks at the nape of his neck. You peppered kisses between sentences, the tension in his shoulders dissipating like fog in the morning sun.

"I've been so hard on myself," he said, his voice dropping. "I'm trying to remain positive, but it's tough when everything feels like it's going wrong."

You leaned in, your hand reaching to cradle his cheek. "You're going to be okay," you whispered. "You always find a way to learn from the tough moments. This is just another chance to show everyone how strong you are."

Your words seemed to have a calming effect on him, his breaths evening out as he nodded slowly. "Merci, mon amour," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Thank you for being here, for believing in me."

The time for the strategy meeting grew closer, and the air in the suite grew tenser. Charles checked his watch for the umpteenth time. "I should go," he said reluctantly, his thumb stroking your hand. "But I'll see you after qualifying?"

"Of course, my love," you replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll be watching from the garage."

You watched as Charles reluctantly pulled away, shifting into the right mindset as he walked toward his team. A warmth spread through your chest, knowing that you'd managed to brighten his day, if only for a brief moment. The garage was a hive of activity as you made your way there. The Ferrari mechanics and engineers moved with a fluid grace, each one a master of their craft, working tirelessly to ensure the cars were ready for the battle that was qualifying. You were greeted by surprised and grateful nods from the team members as you took your place in the garage, a headset handed to you to listen in on the conversations between Charles and his engineers.

The air grew thick with tension as qualifying approached, the hum of the engines increasing in volume and intensity. The lights above the pit lane switched to green, and one by one, the cars began to roll out onto the track. Through the headset, you heard Charles' calm voice as he communicated with his team, the words in Italian and English a reassuring presence in your ears. Each lap was a dance between man and machine, a dance you had become all too familiar with but that never ceased to amaze you. Your heart was in your throat as you watched the screens, your eyes flicking between the timing boards and the live feed of the cars streaking around the floodlit circuit.

As the minutes ticked away, you could feel the pressure building in the garage. The air was electric with anticipation and nerves. The engineers called out to each other in hushed tones, making last-minute adjustments to the car. The tire changers stood at the ready, poised like sprinters waiting for the gun. The sound of the cars grew louder, and you knew that meant Charles was approaching for his flying lap. The garage went quiet, all eyes glued to the screens.

The first set of qualifying rounds went by in a blur. Each time Charles managed to pull off a clean lap, the garage erupted into cheers and sighs of relief. The tension grew tauter as the final round approached, with the top ten drivers fighting for the pole position. Your eyes never left the screens, your nails digging into her palms as you watched your love push the car to its limits. Your lips parted in a whispered prayer, hoping that the mechanical gremlins that had plagued him all weekend would finally leave him alone.

The final minutes of qualifying were upon them, and the air was thick with the scent of burning rubber and anticipation. The Ferrari engines screamed as the drivers took their final laps. Your heart raced in time with the cars, your eyes flicking between the clock and the positioning of Charles' car. Each time he flew past the pit lane, the mechanics held their breath, waiting for the next set of times to flash across the screens.

And then it was his final chance. The tension in the garage was palpable as Charles roared out of the pit and onto the track. His tires squealed in protest as he pushed the car through the first few turns. His voice remained calm, almost serene, as he communicated with his engineer over the radio. The headset pressed against your ears, you heard every gear change, every sigh of the engine, as if you were in the car with him.

Your eyes darted from screen to screen, tracking his progress. The car looked stable, the lines he took precise and aggressive. Your heart thumped in your chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of his tires on the asphalt. The seconds ticked away, the air in the garage thick with hope and anticipation. The crowd's roar grew louder as the cars approached the final sector.

"Come on, baby," you murmured under your breath, willing him to find that extra tenth of a second. The screens tracked his car as it approached the line, and the garage held their collective breath. The time flashed up: P3. Third on the grid.

Your heart soared, and you let out a cheer of victory that was echoed around the garage. The tension broke like a dam, and the team erupted into cheers and applause. Charles thanked Bryan, his engineer, over the radio, his voice tight with relief. He had done it. He had pushed through the pressure and the exhaustion to give them a fighting chance for the race tomorrow.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned to find Mia grinning at you. "Looks like your surprise was the good luck charm we needed," she said with a wink as she reciprocated the hug. "He's been a different man since you arrived."

The qualifying session concluded with a flurry of activity. Drivers were debriefing, cars were being serviced, and the garage was buzzing with the aftermath of adrenaline. Through the chaos, Charles seemed lighter in the press pen and during the top qualifiers press conference. His smile was more genuine, his words less clipped and frustrated. When he finally returned to the garage, his eyes searched for yours and held them for a beat longer than usual. The connection was a silent acknowledgment that your presence had made a difference.

"A domani," Charles called out, his smile reaching his eyes for the first time in days as he waved to the Ferrari hospitality staff. His left hand found the handle of your suitcase, his other arm around your shoulders, his fingers tangling with yours. The short walk to the Ritz Carlton was filled with chatter about the qualifying session, his voice animated with excitement and relief. The tension of the day had melted away, and in its place was the man you knew and loved.

The hotel room was cool and serene, polar opposite to the temperature of the track. You watched him as he tossed his phone and wallet onto the dresser. He stepped closer, his hand reaching for your face, his thumb brushing away the hint of sweat on your cheek. His eyes searched yours, a silent question of how you were feeling. You gave him a tired smile, the kind that said you had missed him more than words could convey. You stood there for a moment, just breathing each other in, before he pulled you closer and kissed you deeply, the stress of the day dissipating in the warmth of your mouth.

You softly urged him to shower while you handled the ordering of room service. As the water ran in the bathroom, you called down to the hotel's restaurant. You ordered your favorites, a mix of Italian and local dishes you had discovered during previous trips to the city-state. While waiting for the food, you slipped into the adjoining bathroom, your eyes scanning over his open suitcase, the disarray of his clothes mirroring the chaos of his weekend so far.

The water stopped, and you could hear the rustling of the shower curtain as he stepped out. You took a deep breath, the anticipation building as you listened to the patter of his bare feet on the cool marble floor. He emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair plastered to his forehead. He looked at you, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Tu m'as manqué, ma belle," he murmured, pulling you into his arms and kissing you as if he hadn't seen you in months.

Your cheeks flushed as his hands roamed over your body, his touch setting your skin alight. You melted into his embrace, his warmth seeping into your bones, chasing away the fatigue from your surprise trip. His kisses grew more insistent, trailing down your neck and across your collarbone.

"Cha," you laughed. "I've missed you too. But it's getting late, and you need to eat before you crash." You playfully pushed him away and gestured toward the bed where the room service tray had been set.

You left him to change as you slipped into the bathroom for your own shower. The cool spray washed away the grime of the flight and the stickiness of the track, and you felt rejuvenated as you stepped out, wrapping a towel around yourself. When you emerged, the room was filled with the mouthwatering aromas of your dinner.

You sat side by side on the bed, your plates balanced on your laps, as you picked at your food, sharing bites and stories from your week apart. You talked about everything and nothing, the mundane and the monumental, filling in the gaps of your time together. Each bite of food brought a new smile to Charles' face, his appetite returning with the comfort of your company.

He continued to ramble as his head found your chest, the sound of his voice a comforting background to the quiet symphony of the city outside your hotel window. His words grew slower as he drifted off to sleep, and you listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, feeling the weight of his head against you.

"I still can't believe you're here," Charles murmured against your skin, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through your very soul. "It means so much to me."

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, your hand continuing to stroke his hair. "I was so worried about you," you whispered. "I had to be here."

"Apparently, you being here is the best thing that's happened to me all weekend," Charles laughed, his eyes fluttering open briefly to look at you before closing again. "Et demain, on gagne," he declared his desire for victory with a yawn, his accent thick and sleepy.

You smiled, your fingers scratching his jaw gently. "Demain, on gagne," you echoed, your voice filled with the belief that together you could conquer the world.

"I wish it wasn't so hard," Charles mumbled into your chest, his eyes still closed. "The distance, the schedule. It's killing me."

Your heart squeezed. "I know, my love. But all the sacrifice, all the flights, all the time apart, all of it is worth it for moments like these." You kissed his forehead, feeling his warmth, his closeness. "I'm so proud of you for pushing through. You're gonna kick some McLaren ass tomorrow."

He chuckled sleepily, the sound reverberating against your chest. "I'll do my best."

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alltheeya · 3 months ago

Text

Before the show | p.sh

genre: established relationship, fluff

word count: 0.7k

notes: another short one but i find it really cute jshsiuhj, y/n is an idol too btw

Sunghoon’s adjusting his in-ears, staring at the monitor in front of him. His stylists are doing last-minute touch-ups on his hair and outfit, and everything is moving around him like clockwork. It’s fine—he’s done this a million times. Performed without you watching backstage. He can do this.

But it’s different now.

He’s gotten used to having you nearby. Even if you were quiet, even if you were hidden behind the staff, just knowing you were close has always made it easier to breathe before a stage. And today? You’re not here. You’ve got your own schedules. And logically, he gets it. He tells himself it’s fine.

Still, there’s a little hollow ache in his chest.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, gaze lowering toward the floor, and just as he’s about to sigh—

He hears a faint, "Psssst!!"

Sunghoon blinks and instinctively turns his head.

And there you are.

A little distance away behind the camera setup and some stage equipment, you were hopping. Like full-on hopping, with your arms waving above your head like a little kid trying to get someone’s attention at the airport. Your staff are clearly telling you, “You need to go, you’re up next!”, but you are fighting for just one more second.

Sunghoon’s lips twitch into a grin, his heart flipping over itself.

You finally catch his eyes. Your grin widens, and you throw both your fists up in a small cheer.

You mouth, “You’ve got this, baby!”

Then you point at your own eye and do the I’m watching you sign, grinning like an idiot.

And then—your hands flutter over your chest before you make a little heart with your fingers.

“I love you,” you mouth this time.

Before you're scooted away by your manager, literally being pulled by the wrist because you're supposed to be somewhere else. You give him one last bright grin, one last tiny wave, and then you’re gone.

Sunghoon exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

And when he steps on stage, in front of thousands, it’s like you're still there beside him.

Because your voice echoes in his head,

"You’ve got this, baby."

And damn right he does. Sunghoon killed it on stage. He knew it.

The adrenaline was still buzzing through his veins, but as soon as he got backstage, he barely let the staff unclip his mic pack before he was moving. Weaving through staff and dodging cameras, still catching his breath but not caring one bit.

Because you were next.

And sure, you had your staffs with you. They are probably whispering something to get you pumped, fussing over your outfit, or making sure your in-ears were in perfectly.

But Sunghoon needed to be there too.

So there he was, standing just beyond the curtain—close enough to catch you before you went on, but far enough not to be in the way. Still wearing his stage outfit, sweat on his temple, chest rising and falling from his own performance. But none of that mattered.

Because he saw you.

You were at a distance, head tilted down, doing last-minute breathing exercises. Then one of your stylists pointed toward the side, and you turned your head—and spotted him.

Sunghoon lifted both hands above his head and started waving them like a maniac. Not the cool, controlled idol wave. Full-on dorky arm-flailing.

Your whole face lit up.

You giggled—he saw it. You were supposed to be in serious mode by now, but there you were, breaking into the biggest smile. And then, without thinking, you did your little happy bounce—your signature move whenever you were really happy. Little jumps on your toes, the ones that made you look like an excited bunny.

Sunghoon swore his heart exploded.

You waved back at him, both hands, big energy. Then you pointed at him, did the little "watch me" sign just like you had done before, and mouthed, "For you!"

And then—just like that—you switched.

From his giggling, bouncing y/n to y/n the performer. Shoulders squared, eyes sharp, walking toward the stage like you owned it.

But Sunghoon didn’t leave.

He stayed right where he was, hand pressed over his heart, watching you like you were the only thing in the world.

And as the lights came on and the music started, he whispered under his breath,

"For me, huh? Then go kill it, baby."

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usedpidemo · 4 months ago

Text

Filmic (fromis_9 Chaeyoung, Nagyung, & Jiheon)

The first ripple is what you see: the waves of smooth flesh sending shocks throughout her body. Her nails digging into the sheets, her muscles shaking as it struggles to stay on all fours.

The second is what you feel: the tightness of her cunt as it pulses against your throbbing cock, overriding every other thought. Your hands deeply burrowing into her pale skin, trying to maintain some semblance of control, all while you try your best to make yourselves look good in front of the poorly setup camera under a dimly lit bedroom.

No wonder you can’t get it right the first time; you just can’t.

—————

It’s never as easy as it looks. You can’t simply go through the motions like with any other job. And to be fair, it isn’t exactly your fault: you can blame Chaeyoung for having a tight ass and pussy.

No matter how many times you fuck her, no matter how many positions you put her in, the end result remains the same: one take just isn’t enough. No amount of practice and experience can ever prepare you for just how tight she is, how close she gets you on the initial entry, and how each thrust is like driving a stake through your loins. She feels so good that it’s unbearable.

It doesn’t help that she’s quite the mouthful in bed.

“Ah—oh my God—yes—” she mindlessly drones on, delivering her demand in comically overexaggerated fashion that you have no clue whether it’s all part of the act or Chaeyoung being Chaeyoung. Same goes for how she backs her ass against your hips, making sure you fill her to the hilt. “Hm—fuck me with that big ass fucking cock—oh fuck—”

To her credit, she’s quite the natural in taking it all. The push and pull of your bodies against each other is enough to generate its own center of gravity. If this were simply a one night stand, you’d already be more than satisfied, but to be her partner, her fuckbuddy—you couldn’t have asked for a better job, even if by all accounts, you’re not doing particularly well right now.

As her ass bounces against your cock, the arch of her back and every ripple caught on camera, she’s putting on quite the show. On the other hand, you’re struggling to keep up, gripping her waist as you pound to her pace, only to find the knot in your stomach burning brighter and hotter. It’s a mistake that comes with the package of having to fuck such a tight, godly woman like Chaeyoung. Slaps of skin rubbing against skin fill the space between thrusts, complemented by the echoes of her whiny cries reaching to the ceiling—

And you’re asking yourself, what sane person—hell what degenerate—even gets off to this shit. Then you look at what's right in front of you. There’s your answer.

“Christ—you’re gonna make me fucking cum—oh my fucking God—” Chaeyoing whines, tossing her dark hair around, so off-putting, you almost lose grip at how unexpected she is. “Keep fucking that big dick in me—”

You can only respond in deep grunts and frantic breaths, straightening what little resolve you have to at least do your part. Keeping your gaze fixated on the tremble, the little jiggle of her shapely ass, your cock entering and exiting, getting wetter with each slam, staining her sheets—

“Gonna cum for you, baby,” you mumble, biting your lower lip, closing your eyes, trying to stretch moments into hours. “Gonna fucking cum—”

Here’s the thing about Chaeyoung: you don’t have a say when it comes to how long you last, because she dictates it for you. And the moment passes by so quickly, you’re left more blueballed than satisfied.

You don’t remember the last time you’ve spent longer than five minutes inside her, but it certainly won’t happen tonight. Not while you’re violently throbbing, gasping for air holding your dick as it pulses inside her creamy cunt before you painfully draw it back. Blasting around the entrance of her core, hot and heavy, cumming all over her ass. Her body takes it—as in, effortlessly sucks up your cum, her skin glistening so bright it’s almost blinding. Your only respite is watching it slowly drip down her thighs and onto the sheets.

As the aftermath of your orgasms wash over you both and pass, Chaeyoung rolls onto her back and out of bed. Like you weren’t aggressively pounding into her and tearing into her foundations mere minutes ago. She limps toward the camera, still filming you, before she stops the recording. Checking through the reel, she shows you the footage. Watching yourself go hard into her, your mind can only focus on the noises you’re making, the stark contrast in tones. She laughs; you cringe.

“Wanna go at it again?” she asks you, drawing out a bottle of lube from the bedside drawer, eager to spread it all over herself—and to spread on all fours once more.

Hand on your beating chest, you tilt up to the ceiling, exhausted, doing something only a rare few on this planet would ever try to Chaeyoung, even though it’s your primary purpose: “How about we get out of bed and go to work?”

—————

Several floors down her apartment building is where your day job lies: a seemingly innocuous bar. The place is usually empty during weekdays, so you barely spend time ‘working’ there, but the weekends are when business picks up.

To be fair, you can hardly call it a job; you co-run the place, but you’re mostly there to serve customers and play matchmaker, most of which happen to be pretty women. It helps that Chaeyoung also hangs out most of the day to entice people inside, giving herself fresh material to work with.

And she sells.

You’re already sure of what it is, before she even shows her phone, and wouldn’t you know it: it’s the 14th straight video of her back dripping with cum from her latest client, with nausea-inducing shaky cam included. Doing it with you on the side wasn’t enough; Chaeyoung has to get her daily fill from desperate men who have all the money to throw around, or desperate loners to find some temporary companionship. Perhaps both. They get to fuck a hot woman, she gets paid big bucks. It’s a win-win for all parties involved.

You see the large, burning red blot covering most of her ass. It tells you everything.

A quick glance away from her proud look and you see a guy scrambling out of the restroom with a hand between his pants, tissue barely hanging on his fingertips.

Yep. That’ll do.

Back to the stats: it’s another hit. It hasn’t even been 5 hours and her latest post has over half a million views and just as many likes from her subscribers. She’s running up her numbers, and she’s telling you how she’ll make millions in less than a year. You’ve crunched the numbers, and she’s right: you call it anal-ytics, and she just punches you in the arm. Your interpretation of comedy is radically different from hers (and unfortunately, she doesn’t appreciate your sense of humor).

“You should really get on,” Chaeyoung tells you, proudly showing you post after post, every thumbnail almost indistinguishable from one another: each a still frame of her heart-shaped ass. Almost every video has three million views or more, even if none of them pass the five minute mark. Same goes for her pictures. She can post a picture of any of her body parts and it’ll make money. “It’s really tough in this economy, you know? For you, it’ll be light work, just like fucking me.”

“Easy for you to say, Miss ‘I can’t be assed to work a real job so lemme whore out for some cash’ Chaeyoung.” You’re saying this, knowing full well you’re no better than her.

“Look who’s talking, Mister ‘BIG-1, the number two male pornstar in Korea.’ How’d you end up paying for this bar and every food truck you send to your co-stars? Hm?”

As expected, the rebuttal is brutally honest. You’ve got no counter to that.

But see, the experience has become so numbing: it’s not as easy to get the complete satisfaction of fucking a girl these days, no matter how hot they are. No matter if they’ve got the thickest ass or the biggest tits on the planet. It also doesn’t help that you’re in Chaeyoung’s ass almost every other day when you’re not ‘working.’ At some point, the law of diminishing returns has come to take its dues.

Before the two of you can continue to bicker back and forth, the entrance door bell chimes, and in comes a familiar face, bringing her share of books and laptop with her.

“Hey. Don’t mind if I brought a friend with me today,” Jiheon says to the four people inside the bar. Trailing right behind her is a fresh face to your small circle. And like most of your guests, she’s undeniably pretty. A face worth plastering on magazine covers and billboards.

There’s a common ground that you and Chaeyoung can stand on. Now you’ve both got some ideas in mind. Fresh blood is much needed around here.

“I’ll have the usual,” Jiheon says out loud, as if everyone recognizes that she’s a regular—which she is. Her partner has been unusually quiet, only mumbling to her with a hand around her face. “My friend will have the best seller,” she shouts right after, essentially acting as her friend’s mouthpiece.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the place, Chaeyoung is goading you into making the first move. “I did the last one. Your turn.”

You lift an eyebrow, hesitant. “Don’t think she’ll want to talk to me—or anyone for that matter.”

“Since when has that ever stopped you?” she replies. You’d assume that Chaeyoung would be more than willing to talk, considering these two are friends and have some knowledge around the industry. Nope—she’s protecting herself by using you as a shield if it falls apart. “Plus, that’s Jiheon. She’ll make anyone open up. Better than me, even.”

Begrudgingly, you concede. Walking over to the counter, you get their drinks. That’s how you get customers to stay for more: by making them feel welcome and making their experience personal. Jiheon’s too focused on her laptop to care at the moment, while her friend is on her phone, quietly scrolling. Shifting in her seat, shaken and uncomfortable, seemingly looking for an excuse to see herself out.

“Thanks,” Jiheon eventually notices, adjusting her glasses. “So—how’s it been?”

“Not much, really,” you reply, “And you?”

“Same. You know how it is.” She’s clicking through what appears to be some form of academic document. You’re so used to seeing Jiheon in uniform for all the wrong reasons that you tend to forget that she’s an actual student outside of the internet. Then again, she’s hardly on social media, with months between posts. “God, research is so boring. I just wanna go full-time with work.”

“Right?” You chuckle, trying to get through her so you can get to her friend, quietly sipping on her drink. Jiheon’s beverage has been hardly touched. “So—who’s your friend here? She’s new.”

Looking up from the laptop screen, she stares directly at you before turning to her shy friend. “Oh, yeah. This is Nagyung. Nakko, this is a friend of mine,” she says, encouraging her to shake hands, which you both do respectfully.

“Nagyung? As in, the actress? Lee Nagyung?”

“Mhm,” she nods, her first spoken word and hopefully many more to come. That explains her quiet and unusual behavior; she doesn’t want to be found and spotted in public. She’s had a few supporting roles here and there, got some awards, and her face is easily recognizable, even if she hasn’t completely broken into the mainstream. How you didn’t catch on right away is a mystery to you.

“Relax. Like I said, he’s a close friend of mine, and this place generally doesn’t get a lot of people, so I like studying here,” Jiheon reassures Nagyung, and she does mostly calm down, albeit still a little tense and jittery. “So—what’s up?”

“Well, you see—”

“Hi! I’m a huge fan of your work in Shadow Beauty,” interjects Chaeyoung out of nowhere, pushing you aside to energetically shake both of Nagyung’s hands. What little goodwill you’ve built between you, gone in an instant. She’s smiling awkwardly, clearly on edge by her manic energy. You’re surprised Chaeyoung can even name one drama she’s starred in, even if that’s what got her on the map. “You know you’d be quite the face in po—”

“Wait.” You immediately cover Chaeyoung’s mouth with your hand, resisting her effort to fight through it and speak her truth. Pulling her aside, you blurt out to Jiheon and Nagyung you’ll return to them in a moment before distancing yourselves to speak in private.

“What the hell?” you question Chaeyoung, pouring out your newfound frustration. “She was just getting comfortable y’know? You can’t just come in and yap up a storm. Not everyone is like that.”

She looks at you with a baffled gaze. Like this is normalized behavior. Like you should expect this to happen with every new person you two meet. “Dunno, she seemed quite into me.”

And you fire a blank-eyed stare back, in complete disbelief at her interpretation. “You can’t be fucking serious right now.”

“Maybe.”

You can only shake your head and sigh—exasperated.

“I’m just saying. Maybe she knows,” says Chaeyoung, in what appears to be an attempt at sounding optimistic. “I mean, isn’t Jiheon—”

“Yeah, no. I don’t think so.” You shut her down before the notion even finds ground. While Jiheon also is a star on her own, she’s quiet in her own right to keep her idol side and personal life completely apart. “Let’s not get any ideas right now, especially with her around.”

“Fair enough. But if she even gets the slightest hint, I’m gonna reel her in.”

“Why are you so adamant about putting Nakko onto porn?” you ask, slightly bothered by Chaeyoung’s resolve. It’s almost twisted in a way. “Last time you did that, Saerom—”

“Okay. That may have been a little too fast,” she interrupts, chuckling at the incident that caused Saerom to walk out. You haven’t been in contact with her since. That was several months ago, and not much has changed since then. “But swear to God, I won’t make that mistake again.”

“You better not.”

So you go back out there first, telling Chaeyoung to wait a few minutes before she can rejoin the conversation. Jiheon and Nagyung are talking it up when you suddenly slide back in.

“Sorry for that,” you interject, putting on your best smile. Like you’re working service for once. Thousands of possible scenarios are playing out in your head, ranging from ideal to the worst. You’re looking at Jiheon first, then turning your attention to Nagyung. “So—Nakko, right? How’s the whole acting gig working out for you?”

She blinks a few times. Looks at Jiheon, who simply lifts her eyebrows and smiles back, shrugging her shoulders.

“It’s—” she’s pausing, prolonging the last sound of that word. “Fine? I haven’t had any scripts coming in lately. It’s tough. But I’m doing okay.”

“Hm. Well—I know of a few people who can get you some gigs,” you tell her, your confidence shooting through the moon as you haven’t fumbled through your words. “Trust me, I’m an actor too.”

“Really?” Nagyung intently looks at you upon hearing that you’re a fellow actor..

“Let me introduce you to my friend, Chaeyoung. She knows her connections.” You’re looking over your shoulder, anticipating for her to have your back. You’ve got it all rehearsed and practiced in your head. She doesn’t show up.

Way to kill the momentum. Again.

“Oh Jesus—Chaeng.”

Chaeyoung finally emerges from behind the wall, more invested on her phone than the situation. “Oh. Sorry, got caught up with a new client,” she casually says, hastily tapping on the screen. “Anyway, are you interested in doing porn?”

—————

“So you don’t have to show your face?” Nagyung asks, gobsmacked at what Chaeyoung is showing her on the phone. One look at her face tells you she’s trying to make sense of all this to no avail. Jiheon has put aside her homework to help guide her through the process.

“They’re locked behind paywalls, but these do so well that those are basically bonuses,” she replies, proud of showing her ass getting blasted on camera in every single thumbnail. Between her videos and all the illicit content she posts on the regular, she’s got the best of both worlds in quantity and quality.

“And you don’t get tired of it? Like at all?”

“Nope! I’d say it’s the best job in the world,” she says, making sure Nagyung sees the monthly revenue on her account, in the millions. All on simple five-minute videos and nude body shots.

“Heoni, tell me you’re not doing this too,” Nagyung looks at her friend, arching an eyebrow, hoping she isn’t playing along.

Jiheon can only shrug her shoulders and flash a gummy smile back.

Nagyung can’t believe it. Both hands on her forehead, her head is gonna explode in light of this revelation. “Oh my fucking God.”

“Well. I figured you wouldn’t take it so well,” says Jiheon, cheeks flustered and red from embarrassment. “I mean, with you being a serious actor and all.”

“I thought you said you were acting too,” replies Nagyung, feeling a little betrayed by her friend from hiding her secret hustle. “Like theater or drama acting in college—or something.”

It’s a good thing the bar is relatively empty right now, because you’re certain every other sane person would have walked out at this point hearing this conversation.

“I do some of that, yeah,” Jiheon tells her, still shrugging her shoulders, flippant. “But nothing compares to being myself on camera, you know? And also, it does pay extremely well. I can vouch.”

Chaeyoung shows her the most viewed pages on the site, even though Nagyung has no intention to look. This is too much for her to comprehend. At the top spot is Jiheon aka creamandheoni, with chaengrang in second place. It isn’t even close; the disparity between them both is about as large as the gap between runner-up and everyone else. They’ve been dominating the rankings over the past several months, even though their content is mostly them being dominated and used over and over again.

Nagyung’s shaking her head in denial, refusing to buy into their attempts at convincing her. There’s no way in any universe does selling their bodies make more money than true, honest-to-God acting. In no way should they be rewarded more for doing less. It’s far too outrageous of a concept to be taken seriously.

“We’re not bullshitting you, Nakko,” says Jiheon, patting her friend’s back. “If you want firsthand proof, join us tomorrow to see how it works.”

“Why would I want to go to a porn studio?” questions Nagyung, giving Jiheon a judgmental look for even proposing the idea. “And if one paparazzi or fansite sees me in there? A stray camera? My career will be over before it even starts.”

“It’s a lot more intricate than that,” Jiheon reassures her, her voice a persistent calm in spite of the uncertainty. An admirable feature that makes her a great professional. “It’s almost the same as filming a drama or movie, with just—a few more gratuitous sex scenes.”

The youngest girl blinks. Realizes there’s a lot more than advertised. “Okay. Maybe a lot more sex scenes, actually.”

“God.” Nagyung’s cursing under her breath, vehemently in denial that she might as well cover her ears.

All of you could sit here and continue convincing Nakko about trying something new. You’re surprised she hasn’t walked out with the repetitive use of arguments. Show her the monthly stats, the paychecks, the follower counts—it isn’t enough. As a new customer walks in, you figure that this was the sign to stop. The lively air in the room quickly changes to brutal awkwardness.

But after a while, Nagyung finally breaks the silence, sighing. “All right. I’ll go—”

Before she can go on, you can feel the giddiness emanating from Chaeyoung, so infectious that you contract her fresh spark of energy. Jiheon’s smiling.

“—but if I’m not convinced, I won’t do it, and you won’t be able to change my mind.”

That she was finally won over is more than enough of a reason to celebrate. Even if it’s out of kindness for a friend. You can sense by the appalled look on her face that she’s already regretting this.

—————

And sure enough, Nagyung follows through on her word. Timely and professional, showing up early in the studio. She’s hilariously overdressed, covering herself with a hoodie, sunglasses, and the thickest layers of clothing possible to maintain complete anonymity.

“This is where you shoot stuff?” Nagyung asks you, the earliest one inside. The other two women, one of which being your on-screen partner today, haven’t arrived yet. It’s a relatively unassuming, normal building, all things considered—not a grimy shithole that she imagined.

“Yeah. Productions tend to be incredibly cheap, so much so that we tend to reuse everything,” you tell her, matter-of-fact. “For maximum profit, you know? Like a normal studio.”

“I can believe that.”

Looking out into the distance, you see Jiheon running for her life, almost losing grip on her belongings in her haste. She manages to hold on, successfully catching up with both of you at the studio entrance, with her legs being spent at her expense.

“Sorry I’m late,” she huffs, gasping for air, hands on her knees, tired. A look at your schedule tells you she’s actually almost an hour early. “I had a last-minute photoshoot to do, but here I am.”

You wanna tell her the truth, but you don’t. She’s too sweet of a person to break her heart.

On the other hand, Nagyung doesn’t care. “Heoni, filming doesn’t start for another hour.”

“Really? Damn.” Jiheon flashes a defeated look at her friend and you, devastated at her efforts going to complete waste. She laughs the pain away; it’s evident on her face. “Well that’s what happens when you’ve got your schedules all messed up.”

Not long after, you get a message from Chaeyoung telling you she won’t be able to make it on time, leaving you down to three. Another client, she says, meaning she’s gonna spend most of her day getting railed and filming herself for new content. For her, the grind never stops.

So you climb up the elevator together, the eighth floor is where the magic happens. Passing through a narrow corridor, a nude woman suddenly emerges from one of the production rooms. Her body trembling, she gives you an inviting wink as she walks in the opposite direction. Nagyung looks back, then at you and Jiheon, alarmed that this is a seemingly normal interaction.

The woman walks into one of the bathrooms, her ass swaying hypnotically as you look back. As she completely disappears from view, Nagyung refocuses her attention back to you, baffled.

“What the hell? Who was that?”

“Oh, Seoyeon?” You chuckle. “We know each other. Most of us.”

“Most of us?”

As you step inside the room at the far end of the corridor, you explain to Nagyung, “Yeah. The girls are the stars here, and us guys trade partners every week.”

“Jesus.” You can sense the regret in Nagyung’s voice. “That’s gross.”

The comment doesn’t faze neither you nor Jiheon; it was a given considering she’s still an outsider. It’s no different than kissing a traditional co-star—mostly.

But moving on to what’s ahead, the film set is already ready, with the production crew making last minute adjustments. The director fixes his glasses, realizes his cast have finally arrived, and he looks tired. The guy looks so done, even though nothing has happened yet.

“There you guys are,” he comments, noticing the elephant in the room. “And who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Na—”

Jiheon’s mouth is suddenly stopped by a harsh blow to her ribs courtesy of Nagyung’s elbow.

“Sorry. I mean—Christine.”

“Well tell them if they’re not a cast or crew, they should kindly buzz off.”

“No, no. She’s here to learn and wants to join at some point.”

“Join?” He shoots back a puzzled look. Taps his foot. No one in the right mind willingly wants to do porn. It’s the lowest of the low, you’ll admit, and there are better ways to find exposure into the greater entertainment industry, especially if you’ve already got one foot inside. If not for your friend’s influence, you’d keep your double life separate too, just like Jiheon. “Hm. I don’t know.”

At the worst possible time, the director has an existential crisis. He’s hesitant to let her in, but at the same time, doesn’t want to kick her out either. Before his head explodes from anxiety, he tells you to head into the dressing room to get ready at once.

—————

Inside, Nagyung continues to be stunned at how casual everything is between you and Jiheon. That you’re both undressing right in front of each other, at how normalized nudity is, like you’re in your homes and not preparing to film sex in front of cameras and random strangers. The younger woman brought her actual university uniform along because the company can barely afford to film props, and same goes for you—a simple suit and tie.

“So this is totally normal? Normal for both of you to just do this? No intimate feelings whatsoever?”

Both of you nod back, humming a harmonious mhm in unison.

“Kind of numb to it at this point,” you say, buttoning the last of your shirt. “I mean, there are some feelings, but we’re professionals. It’s all done with consent, obviously.”

Jiheon chuckles, her trademark gummy smile bouncing back through her mirror as she brushes her hair, putting on the finishing touches on her appearance. “It helps that you’ve got such a nice cock.”

Both of you end up laughing heartily, much to Nagyung’s dismay.

“But for real, I trust you more than anyone,” she tells you, walking over to your side to fix your tie properly, playfully slapping your cheeks. “I mean, that and you being the number one male—”

“Right. Not a real achievement.”

“Come on, carry yourself with pride,” Jiheon remarks, repeatedly clapping your face, turning that little frown upside down. “Who else can say they’re the top male porn star in Korea for six months straight?”

Before things get a little more personal, you hear the director calling your names. It's go time.

—————

Nagyung casually sits behind the others on set, keeping her identity concealed, but she easily stands out based on how overdressed she is compared to everyone else. No one can hardly be arsed to dress up on the job, showing the lack of seriousness. They want to get this over with and move on to better, more dignified work.

The director tells you to look into the camera as you’re put into this compromising position; Jiheon bent on the prop desk, her damp underwear in view as you press your bulging pants against her lifted skirt. The job never becomes easy, no matter how much you rehearse. Your co-star, on the other hand, is already having the time of her life; it’s written all over her face. How she wants it. How she badly needs it inside her right now.

Your cock wants her too. The feeling is mutual.

The director checks through the script, which doesn’t matter at all. The story is about as cookie cutter and as generic as anything you’ve seen in theaters lately. She’s the bratty student looking for an out, you’re the teacher with a moral crisis. Of course you’re gonna fold; you don’t need a prompt telling you that you’ll fuck her and bend the rules behind everyone’s back. You’ve seen this movie play out over and over again in different ways. The only difference being that the student is Jiheon. She’s the splitting image of the hot student fantasy that it’s an astonishment this is her first go at the premise.

Ironically, Jiheon follows the script by the book, word for word. You can tell that it’s been written by people whose only experience with sex is through porn and nothing else. If she wanted to, she could genuinely act. There’s something distracting hearing her deliver her lines in a surprisingly professional manner that you flub your cue multiple times. Not to say she’s entirely responsible, but she does contribute quite a bit; you couldn’t be arsed to read yours. So you’ve been winging it, much to your director’s annoyance.

The guy wasn’t expecting to actually direct today.

“What’s going on, man?” he rages while on the chair, frustrated that you’ve blown your lines eight times. He’s suffering. “Did you even read the script?”

“Mhm,” you tell him, playing down the seriousness of his predicament. The consummate worker she is, Jiheon takes you aside privately for a word as he calls for a quick breather.

“Something up today?” Jiheon asks you, redirecting your wandering gaze back to her while you search for Nagyung. She has seemingly disappeared between takes.

“I don’t know,” you tell her, unable to figure out the issue yourself.

“Is it because of Nakko, right?”

“Maybe.”

She looks around the set herself, with Nagyung nowhere to be found. “Well, that’s not what matters right now. If she doesn’t want to, then it is what it is, right?”

You pause for a moment before nodding. “Right.”

A moment later, Nagyung emerges from the dressing room, taking a seat away from everyone else on set. It’s all in your head. The doubt. The unease. Parting in an instant. Like you’ve got something to prove.

So when you go for your ninth take, you feel a completely different person than you were minutes ago. The responses come naturally, even if it’s mostly ad-libs and improvisation. The director keeps it rolling as you effortlessly pace through the nonexistent teasing and pleasantries: commanding Jiheon to drop to her knees and unbuckle your pants like the naughty student she is.

Even in front of cameras, you can only see her.

The director makes sure your erect cock is in clear view, already dripping with precum. Right on cue, Jiheon looks over her shoulder and looks directly at the camera, wrapping her fingers around your base. A thumbnail worthy shot. She makes sure the sound equipment hears every slurp and hum from her lips when she takes you into her mouth; bobbing her head back and forth as she sucks you dry, making you squirm on the chair.

Grabbing her by the hair, pacing her suction and forcing your cock deep in her throat. Staining her otherwise pristine face and pretty lips with thin streaks of white. Taking slow, passionate licks on your tip, giving herself a taste. Internally, you’re telling yourself you’ll nail this in one take; if you don’t do it now, you won’t do it ever, and no amount of visual effects and post-production can come close to filming that level of authenticity.

You’re not sure whether you’re filming porn or actually going for it at this point.

As more of your cum splatters on her face, Jiheon has your cock gripped in one hand, unbuttoning her shirt with the other. Giving you a blurry glimpse of her cleavage, the ecstasy feels so good that finding focus is nearly impossible. You’re losing it. Meanwhile, the cameras are still rolling, capturing every single detail. Besides the lewd sounds you’re making, the set is eerily quiet, as if they’re letting you both run the show, which you are.

“Yeah—fucking do it—do it baby—” Jiheon rasps, pumping you fast and reckless without concern or consideration, demanding you cum for her. “Come on—give your favorite student what she deserves.”

And quite frankly, you just might.

Thrusting, following her pace, gasping for air, gritting your teeth. As though you’re dangerously close to falling off a cliff. As if her hand wasn’t enough, Jiheon teases you with the faintest touch of her tongue. That needy, thirsty tongue. Tip to tip, squeezing the smallest drop of cum out of your cock, in the lewdest expressions imaginable. She’s putting on quite the show. If you weren’t so preoccupied with keeping yourself together, you’d be disappointed for not keeping up.

The camera absolutely loves Jiheon, that’s for certain. She’s taken to being under the spotlight as easily as putting on shoes: quite effortlessly. All eyes are drawn toward her as she lets it go: pointing your throbbing cock all over her shirt, her bra, and all over her face. She milks you for all your worth; the sensation feels so damn good it hurts. Half her face is painted in your cum, as if her skin can glisten any brighter. And once she finally empties you clean, she licks herself, tastes whatever amount of you she can reach.

If it weren’t for the cameras rolling, you’d pass out right then and there. But there’s still more to do, all in the name of fanservice and views.

As you prop Jiheon on top of the desk, barely able to drag your legs, a quick glimpse of Nagyung tells you everything you need to know. She’s got a hand covering her mouth; you don’t need to see through those sunglasses to sense her shock and disbelief. If only she could walk away now, but she can’t. But before your attention lingers a few moments longer, Jiheon redirects your gaze back to her. Back to what’s important.

You don’t even realize she’s borderline naked, only keeping her stained skirt on her body. Slipping your hand between her legs, you shed her panties down her legs. It’s just as drenched as you expected; there’s no faking it.

“Smell it,” Jiheon whispers to you, catching you completely off-guard. This wasn’t in the script. You can’t tell whether she’s speaking for herself or if it’s part of the act. Perhaps both.

Before you can even question her, the cameras remind you to stay in character. So you follow.

Grinning as if she’s caught you in her trap, Jiheon spreads her legs wide, giving you a peek of her soaked pussy. Drawing you like a moth to a flame, you grab her thighs, spread her that extra inch wider, and dive headfirst into her cunt.

She keens. Her body glued flat to the surface, shaking while your tongue makes work of her slick core. There’s no better place to drown in. The taste is so intoxicating, you can lay in it forever.

Jiheon lets out these scuffed, disjointed cries of pleasure. Can’t formulate complete sentences, only erratic noises and volumes of profanities. “Fuck—fuck yes—so—so good—mmh—”

All while you’re filling up the room with the sounds of slurping and humming, drowning yourself in the savory nectar of Jiheon’s cunt. The desk begins to rock the rougher and deeper you go, losing yourself in the suffocating sensation of her pussy as her legs close in on your face.

Oh, you’re doing it for real, if there was any doubt.

As Jiheon straightens her knees upward, you can hear her whining grow louder. “Almost there—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

Like you had any intention to.

“I’m gonna cum—please—it’s so—”

And Jiheon’s voice cracks before she can finish. Turns into an airy whine as you’re tongue deep in her to care.

She’s trembling all over when she cums. Turns your face into a canvas, an outlet of her orgasm. A torrent of her juices wash over your face, and you graciously take it all, drowning yourself in her bliss. There’s an authenticity that an intimacy coordinator can’t replicate. Genuine emotions pouring in, of pleasure, of pain, of everything in between. The correct thing to do would be to let it pass organically before moving on.

But of course, the director can’t even do that right.

“Cut!” he yells from his chair, ruining what otherwise would have been a perfect sex scene and continuation. Jiheon’s still in the throes of her peak when the cameras stop rolling, your face still buried deep in her aching core. As you rise up for air, your face is soaked twice over in her slick. Gasping, heaving for much needed air. Another still-worthy image.

Making Jiheon cum and cumming on her is a reward in and of itself, but still: some positive remark or compliment from the director would have been nice.

“That was good,” he tells you as the other crew come in to clean up your mess. “But I would have liked a little more dirty talk coming from you. Some degradation, you know? Like maybe calling her a slut, but we can fix that in post. Good work today, guys.”

—————

“So—what do you think?” you ask Nagyung in the dressing room. That one take was all that you did. You and Jiheon are done for the day. At least that’s what you believe.

“I—I don’t—I just—” Nagyung is too stunned to speak. She laughs, because she can’t find the right words to say. The entire time, she had been watching behind her sunglasses, never once removing them. For her eyes and sanity, probably the best decision. “You guys are really fucking crazy.”

“We don’t know what else to tell you,” says Jiheon, calm and casual about the whole thing. Like you didn’t just have sex in front of her for real, despite the film set serving as a backdrop. “I mean—I wished we went through with the penetration, but it is what it is.”

“Thank God you didn’t.” Nagyung remarks, tone sarcastic. “My eyes are gonna need bleach after seeing all that.”

“It’s me, so what I do is honestly tame by comparison,” Jiheon replies, swiveling her chair around, kicking her leg up. “You’ve got girls in threesomes, gangbangs, free use—”

“Okay, we get it.” Nagyung interrupts. “No need to explain any further.”

“But Nakko, wouldn’t you have to do a love scene at some point?” you bounce the notion, using her background as a means to get on equal footing. “I mean, yeah, you’ve got an intimacy coordinator, but—”

She’s quick to shut you down. “I’m not doing a love scene. Not in a million years.”

And you stop talking right then and there.

Nagyung pinches her forehead, stressed out by her internal quandary. You can sense that she doesn’t want to, but can’t say no. It’s palpable through her veins. She’s come at a crossroads with her career. On one hand, there’s opportunities for work and pay, but the implications it could have long term outweigh the short term benefits.

A few minutes of awkward silence follows.

“I don’t have to show my face—right?”

“Nope. Don’t have to,” you answer.

“Your voice though,” Jiheon says, concerned about her friend’s future too. “Your face can easily be masked, but your voice—”

“Yeah, I know,” replies Nagyung, deeply exhaling. “But—I’d rather do everything now and regret it later than not doing anything at all.”

“But your career—” Jiheon is alarmed by her friend’s sudden change of heart.

“Maybe no one recognizes me through my voice and I can moonlight like you do,” says Nagyung. “If it’s a flop, then at least I don’t have to do any more,” she tells her. “I want to test myself. See how far I can go.”

Jiheon takes a look at Nakko before turning to you. You’ve been convinced since she asked that first question. You’re only waiting for her.

You nod. And that’s what finally puts Jiheon at peace.

“Okay.” Jiheon rises from her seat, smiling. “Looks like we’re doing this. No regrets?”

Nagyung smiles back. “No regrets.”

—————

“Shit—oh fuck—oh shit—” Jiheon pants, her suffocating legs wrapped around yours while you pound her against the wall with running water washing down both your drenched, tangled bodies. “Keep going—I need this—need you—fuck!”

The feeling is mutual. Turns out, you can’t get your much needed satisfying orgasms when you’re in front of cameras. Some things are better behind closed doors and between two people alone.

The showers in the studio aren’t designed for quick clean ups; they’re an outlet. A conduit for co-stars to get their proper climaxes in when the cameras aren’t rolling. They’re designed to be as loud and proud as possible. It’s all the more evident when your moans are bouncing off the walls in thunderous, shattering echoes. Not even the running water can cover your tracks. Anyone in close proximity to the bathrooms can hear you. It’s the perfect place to unwind after any filming day.

“So—fucking—embarassing,” you tell Jiheon, more a shot at yourself than a comment about how needy she is. It comes with the package when it comes to shooting porn; something about fucking your partners in private ticks those marks compared to doing it in front of a professional crew. “Can’t believe you made me cum so fucking much—”

“Isn’t that the point?” she whispers back, her nails clawing down, taking lease of your back. Between moans, her body trembles wildly with each thrust you give her. Burying your cock deep inside her needy cunt with each stroke. You give her more of a reason to cling to you. “But maybe—maybe—” she stammers, her head drowning in so much ecstasy that she goes tongue tied. “Maybe—I should have let go sooner—”

Pumping Jiheon at an erratic rhythm, your hips gained a second wind after that much needed respite after filming. Struggling to capture her lips, you barely kiss her. “You can now. Fucking cum for me. Christ—”

The sound of flesh slapping flesh ripples through the room, overpowering even the continuous shower noise. You’re fucking her like you’ve got something to prove. Using her cunt liberally, her walls pulsing tightly against your throbbing cock, quickly burning through what little resolve you have built up. Try as hard as you can, the knot in your stomach lingers and lingers, slowly flooding your head, until you have no other choice—

It all comes crashing down.

Jiheon melts in your arms, barely hanging on for dear life. The orgasm washes over her in turbulent ripples, shuts her up in an instant. Mouth hung wide, head tilted up for you to rest your head on her neck, moaning these sweet profanities that are music to your ears. She cums all over your cock, urging you to follow her right after—which you do.

The way you cum so soon, it makes you second guess why you’re in this position to begin with. It doesn’t match your best male KAV pornstar title. Nevertheless, you fill her, give her what she’s been fiending for the longest time. It makes the entire ordeal worth it.

You stay in Jiheon a bit longer. A lot longer than you internally promised. Even as your cock withers, you keep yourself buried with what little you have, letting your orgasms pass over quietly. Resting underneath the shower, your bodies entangled like pieces of a puzzle meant for each other, your lips meet halfway in an intimate, delicate kiss.

So maybe you’re starting to catch some feelings. But before it blossoms into something more, Jiheon breaks off the smooch, grinning against your face. She’s flustered all over; she feels the same way.

“I thought you needed help getting hard again,” she remarks, as her fingers push on your lower lip.

Blinking a few times, you reply, “You didn’t help anyway whatsoever.”

She laughs, smilingly cuddling against you before going in for another passionate kiss.

—————

A week later, you’re back in the studio, this time together with Chaeyoung and Jiheon in what’s basically a pornographic blockbuster. The two biggest female stars and the top male star in an internet-breaking film. Your careers have been building toward this moment. Hell, in a rare act of restraint, you decide to abstain from your regular escapades to prepare for this. Inside the dressing room, there’s a little predicament: Chaeyoung’s having a little fit about taking cum head on, because she doesn’t want to mess up her makeup and hair apparently. She’s spoken to the director about changing the scene multiple times to no avail. She’s frustrated. The ironic thing is: she’s the one who’s been talking about it nonstop. So this sudden change of heart comes off as strange and unusual.

“How about I do it?” Jiheon steps in, seeing the frenzied, panicked state Chaeyoung is in. She’s walking back and forth, close to pulling her extensions off, possibly making a bigger mess of herself more than what you’re about to do. “Is it this serious for you to back out last minute, Chaeng?”

“Yes,” Chaeyoung yells at her, making sure everyone hears her desperate plight. “I’ve got a client tonight, and he’s apparently a chaebol, so—”

“I thought you weren’t taking any clients today,” Jiheon says. Even this shoot is that important of an occasion to skip escorting—at least only for today. Apparently not.

“It’s not often you get a million dollar payday,” Chaeyoung remarks, looking at herself in the mirror, examining every single detail about her. You can sense that she’s itching to leave at the earliest possible opportunity.

“Is it gonna hurt you to tell him that you can delay the meeting for tomorrow?” Jiheon asks, only to immediately realize the answer she’ll give. “Oh yeah—”

“It will.” Both Chaeyoung and Jiheon speak synchronously.

Suddenly, you enter the dressing room, catching their attention. “Good news, Chaeng. I’ve gotten them to change the scene.”

Before you can say another word, Chaeyoung breathes out a needed sigh of relief, while Jiheon shakes her head. “Thank God,” Chaeyoung says, rubbing a hand on her chest. “So—what now?”

“Told me to come up with a scene,” you tell her. “And I’ve got an idea.”

—————

You can barely hear the director’s echoes from underneath Chaeyoung’s supple ass. Her butt almost fully presses on your face, cutting off most of your sensory functions. You need Chaeng and Jiheon to relay the question for you to fully understand.

“He’s asking if you can finish in this position,” Chaeyoung shouts, while you can barely breath down here.

“What a ridiculous question,” you’re mumbling to yourself, as if anyone can even hear you right now, while you’re basically dying. To make matters worse, Jiheon’s squatting down on your cock, already buried in her cunt as a sort of unfinished business, sequel baiting move from last week’s session. The two girls are facing each other, all of you already in the nude. Even though you’ve been on-screen for half the runtime, this is their show, and you’re merely a glorified stage prop.

The only reason you can move is because of the grind of Chaeyoung’s ass, which is basically the stand-in for the director yelling action!

If only you can see what’s up there. How hot it would be to see Chaeyoung and Jiheon making out and caressing each other’s bodies. You know that’s what’s happening because you can hear the sound of muffled hums and gentle kisses. Even without your presence, this one scene alone would singlehandedly break the internet. The two top Korean pornstars fucking is about as surefire of a hit as any theatrical blockbuster.

All the better, Jiheon’s taking your cock as she kisses her co-star, her rhythm constantly disrupted, giving Chaeyoung all the leeway to go down on her svelte body. As always, she’s the loudest one in the room, the one with the highest sounding cries, the one with the sharpest moans. Chaeyoung’s got her arms wrapped around her back, taking purchase of her frame between passionate kisses. She goes down on the one thing she’s envious of, beside her ranking as number one: her supple, shapely tits.

Meanwhile, you’ve got your tongue buried between Chaeyoung’s ass, licking up her slick core, drinking as much of her nectar as you desire. You haven’t had a taste of her in a week, so this was like quenching thirst in the middle of a hot, dry desert.

Squatting on top of you, both women are gingerly bouncing on your helpless body, taking as much of you as they possibly can. Shared experience and common interest working at play. The pleasure sends shockwaves through their nerves, causing them to abruptly freeze in place. Taking this opportunity to dig your hands on Chaeyoung’s thick thighs, deeply slurping into her suffocating heat. They’re making music with their passionate, lust-filled moans.

The pleasure appears to be far more overwhelming than thought. Chaeyoung and Jiheon tremble atop you while they ride you in slow, sloppy motions. Their bodies feel heavy to move smoothly; this is your handiwork. You feel the harsh grip of their nails on your chest. The desperation. The need to cling for support.

“Oh,” you hear a prolonged whine, unsure who it’s from. “Oh God—”

Their breaths are heaving, deep, heavy. Moments stretching into minutes. Minutes stretching into hours. You’ve found true solace between Chaeyoung’s ass and inside Jiheon’s cunt.

You hear a follow up groan. A continuous crescendo. It’s familiar enough for you to guess it’s Jiheon, and you’d be proven correct. In the midst of this mess, you never realized your own undoing had passed, and it’s because your mind lingered on Chaeyoung’s hole. You never felt the twitch of your cock at all. The creamy load that you were intending to share between the two women, all of it sucked up by Jiheon’s needy pussy instead.

It’s gonna be a challenge to tell Chaeyoung that she’ll have to drink it out of Jiheon’s cunt.

A brief stir, followed by a gravelly echo, and then Chaeyoung hops off your face, letting you see the light. Jiheon also clambers off your cock, your connection broken by a thick string of cum glued between your skin.

The director rises from his chair, seemingly frustrated for some reason. He’s surveying the scene; it’s a mess. “God dammit. You came too soon.”

Your hips are drenched in a pool of your own sticky load. Likewise, Jiheon’s thigh is dripping to the floor full of you. It’s unlike you to finish quite prematurely. Elsewhere, your face is coated in Chaeyoung’s slick, but not to the same extent as your groin.

“How much did you film?” Jiheon asks him, professional sounding like always, albeit barely suppressing her laughter.

“About four minutes.”

Four minutes is about 20 short of what was expected. As much as you savored the sensation, you’re not sure you can spend another five beneath Chaeyoung’s ass.

The director pinches his nose, thinking of possible ways to prolong the scene and deliver the best product possible. It may be porn, but it’s still people’s livelihoods at stake. In the meantime, the assistant calls for a break, meaning all three of you head back to the dressing room for a breather and additional touch-ups.

Taking a chair for yourselves, you can’t find the words to speak. So do your co-stars.

The sound of the door swinging open captures all your attention, foregoing the customary knock. An unprofessional action, but then—

You see the person entering the room, and you all shut up.

“Hey y’all,” Nagyung says, bringing half a dozen shopping bags with her. She’s wearing sunglasses to hide her identity, of course. “Don’t mind if I make myself comfortable.”

You have no objections, even if you couldn’t outright say it. The other two share your sentiment. After all, it’s been a week since you last saw her. Something about a magazine feature, Jiheon said, explaining her sudden absence from your small friend circle. But now, she’s here, in the flesh, visiting during one of your more important film shoots.

The first thing Nagyung points out after setting her bags aside is the thick layer of cum on Jiheon’s skin. “I must have missed out on a hot scene,” she remarks, her gaze lingering on the large blot. Not even her bathrobe can hide the evidence.

“You only got here just now?” Jiheon asks, to which she merely nods.

“Should have gotten here earlier,” Chaeyoung comments, chuckling at her absent friend. “I swear, it was so—so—hot.”

“I bet it was,” Nagyung replies back, lightly shaking her head.

Before it goes awkwardly silent once more, you turn to Nagyung, asking her the big one. “So—have you decided? I thought you weren’t gonna come back.”

Facing you, Nagyung hesitates for a moment. “Well,” she pauses, taking a deep breath to formulate her response. “I have thought about it. A lot. And as you know, I’d like to challenge myself, so—”

“Does that mean—” Chaeyoung interjects.

“Quiet, Chaeng.” You shush her.

Pausing again, Nagyung has this look of resignation and acceptance on her face. “Might as well give it a go.”

In an instant, Chaeyoung’s eyes light up, brimming with newfound energy. On the other hand, you and Jiheon silently nod.

“Do everything and regret it later—”

“—Rather than not doing anything at all.” Everyone, including you, finishes Nagyung’s sentence in unison.

“Exactly.” is her remark, amazed at how well all three of you know her mantra.

“I can’t wait,” Chaeyoung tells her, excited at the countless possibilities. “Us three, running the top of the ranks. It’s gonna be so fun.”

“Easy there. Nakko, I know this is gonna be a little bit of an adjustment, but it’s really a blast. Trust us,” says Jiheon, approaching her to be her guide through her new job. “And wouldn’t you know it, you have the best worker on standby to help you out too.”

“And who would that be?”

Jiheon points directly at you. Across your seat, Nagyung gently smiles, expectant and excited. Her friend is giving you a thumbs up, as if you’re a hundred percent down for the responsibility, when in reality, you’re not ready to guide a newcomer through the ropes. Especially one with a well-established public reputation like Lee Nagyung’s.

—————

“So, are you gonna like post that?” Nagyung asks, looking over her shoulder with a wary look. You’ve got her in bed laying on her stomach, her clothes lost on the floor save for her shirt, and you towering behind her, her bare ass trembling with your cock’s touch. With Chaeyoung out for tonight, the little studio where you normally shoot your films with her is available for practice—and you’re gonna take advantage of her absence. “My fees are hefty, you know.”

“No,” you tell her, shaking your head with a slimy, shit-eating grin. On one hand is your cock, pumping yourself hard against her core, the other holding a camera. Her ass is already wiggling against your shaft, and you don’t know whether you can capture this view perfectly once you start rolling. “This work of cinema is for my eyes only.”

Nagyung braces herself and clings to the edge of the mattress as you slowly dip into her pussy, suppressing her moans before she’s utterly consumed by your cock. By the way she reacts, you recognize that she’s born for the cameras, born for this moment.

—————

Later that week, you hear an unexpected knock on your apartment door. Under any other circumstance, you wouldn’t bother to entertain it at all; Chaeyoung’s sudden booty calls happen hours in advance. She would never come over this late. A look through the outside camera shows you a new presence: Nagyung.

You’ve got some questions running through your mind, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get there. So you welcome her inside without a second thought.

As soon as she enters your place, Nagyung sheds off the thick coat she’d been wearing unceremoniously, letting it fall to the floor. Her tits are protruding through her shirt, and she’s sporting the skimpiest pair of jean shorts you’d ever seen.

“Thanks for letting me in,” she remarks, tone low. Picking up the discarded clothing off the ground, she opts to lay it on your couch rather than the rack close to the entrance. “Sorry if this is all out of nowhere—”

“No worries,” you miraculously manage to blurt out, your gaze lingering on her fine pair of legs. Her slim yet toned physique makes your mouth water. Can’t find the resolve to look anywhere but her eyes, no matter how hard you try. “But—how’d you get my address?”

“Friends know friends. Wasn’t hard.” She’s walking around your apartment, taking mental notes of your place. For someone with your line of work, it’s relatively modest and normal, like you’ve been doing a 9-to-5.

“Right.” You pick up her coat and set it on the rack without her noticing.

Nagyung turns around, facing you eye to eye as you approach her in the living room. Hands behind her pockets, graceful and cordial. The words that come out of her lips aren’t. “You’ve got the best dick around, and after that little trial run we did, I’d like a little more of it.”

It’s so sudden and unanticipated that you can only blink in response..

“So show me then. I need to see it again.” Every step she takes toward you, another step over that line. Her gaze, fierce and intense, goes from you down to your pajamas. Her hands reach for your pajamas, clawing at the fabric to feel your cock. The reaction is immediate; you can feel yourself throb at her hands, the need to free your raging dick. “You wouldn’t turn down a pretty girl like me, would you now?”

Never. Not in a million years. This seems like the exception. You know there are better ways to ease her in, to make the process a lot more comfortable. It’s not an easy adjustment. However, her eyes are begging, pleading in earnest for her to be thrown straight into the fire.

Under the shallowest guise of morality, you hesitate. Swallowing your throat, your voice goes hoarse—falls flat, lacks conviction: “I—I don’t think you should—it’s too soon.”

Your answer falls on deaf ears, because Nagyung continues to hold your cock, squeezing your ballsack. She gives you this teasing, offended look—a response to your half-assed attempt at convincing her otherwise. Sticking her tongue out like it’s second nature, the same manner she does on her Instagram photos. “Really? Did you say this to Jiheon too, huh?”

It seems to light a fire in Nagyung’s soul. She slides down your loose pajamas, enough to let your cock breathe in the air—and for her fingers to touch your tip. Enough for some precum to spill into her hand. Your head begins to spin; you’re feeling lightheaded.

“Christ—Nakko—we can do this—just not now—” you say, deeply inhaling as she releases you from her grip.

She takes a finger into her mouth, tastes a bit of you, before coating her lips with your sheen. Lifting an eyebrow, she appears totally unconvinced. “Again. Is this what Jiheon heard when she wanted to do this the first time?”

“No—”

Before you can get another word off, she drops to her knees, forcing your pajamas down to the floor. Your erection inches away from her nose, one hand wraps around the base, delicately pumping you, disrupting your train of thought. Her other hand holds onto your thigh, pulling you close. She dives in, takes you into her mouth, without hesitation. Filling herself with cock and soft hums, her tongue works backwards, licking from the hilt up to your tip in abrupt, erratic motions.

Fucking hell, she’s such a natural at it.

“Everytime you answer incorrectly,” she mutters, struggling to take in your length, choking halfway before lodging you back in comfortably. “I’m gonna make you cum, but you won’t get to unload in my pussy.”

There are some fates worse than death; this is one of them.

Nevertheless, Nagyung continues to blow you effortlessly, like she was meant for it. This is essentially her audition and she’s passing with flying colors. Her harsh suction and smooth slurping splinters your senses, sends chills down your spine. The only thing you can do is grab her hair, find some semblance of control, but she moves at her pace, at her rhythm—and it’s a mess.

Not even thrusting into her throat can impede her.

“Just be honest with me,” she says, her voice making your cock vibrate. Her fingers remain active pumping, jerking you hard, measuring your load. “You’re trying to protect me, right? You wouldn’t want to be responsible for ruining my acting career?”

You shake your head in denial, even as she continues her assault on your senses. Wrong answer.

“I don’t really care all that much. I just want your cock right now.” Nose to chest, Nagyung’s cheeks hollow out as she invites you throat deep. No gag reflex, even as she whimpers quietly, suffocating, gasping for air. Your fingers thread between strands of her hair, holding her in place, exactly as she wants.

Merely a blur between your legs, she lightly bobs her head back and forth, relinquishing control into your hand. She’s too far gone, and so are you. You’re more than happy to oblige.

Taking a brief opportunity to look up at you, Nagyung looks directly into your eyes. She’s never been more proud of herself. Proud to prove a point, proud to make you shut up like this. Internally, you are too; you’ve never had anyone blow you like this, take you into their mouth like it’s built to hold cock.

“This is all on you, Nakko,” you huff, shutting your eyes, relishing the hot sensation of her mouth and lips. The yank on her hair tightens. “You wanted this.”

She songfully hums, her only response, currently immersed in taking as much of your cock as possible. You reward her, thrusting into her throat without care for comfort or rhythm, without respite. She coughs, she whines, she keens. Tears begin falling from her eyes, but she continues to take it extremely well.

But neither of you can take it for long. Especially you with how new this sensation feels coming from her.

Your fingers twist her hair into a makeshift leash, controlling her pace to match yours. Except not really, you’re still going at full speed, never letting up for even a second. The ecstasy, the euphoria from using her mouth is too good to let go. Both her hands have given up, settling on your thighs for support. She has conceded complete control into your grasp. You’re now responsible as to whether or not you will ruin her career.

And you just might. After all, she’d given herself over, essentially coming to your side for greener pasture. You can only hope she really doesn’t regret it later.

“Gonna cum,” you groan out, pumping into her mouth, unrelenting. She feels so good, you can barely keep one eye open while she essentially rests on your pelvis, close to flying over the edge.

Nagyung makes this incomprehensible sound, garbled by cock—something between the lines of cumming all over face and never stopping. The thought never crossed your mind. Beside, you’ve got other concerns—particularly, the knot in your stomach tightening past repair.

For a few precious moments, you feel it: the blaze of lust burning everything in sight, including Nagyung’s face. She chokes, gags on it one more time before releasing you from her grip, her hands returning to the base, intent on making sure you don’t miss a spot on her pristine features.

Instead, your plunge between her lips again, her eyes widening, and fire away. Her mouth floods with a torrent of cum, thick, hot, filling her throat to the brim. She swallows it all, avoids wasting a single drop, and even she can’t fight it off any longer. She gave up her rights the moment she forced you into her mouth.

Even as the pulse weakens, and you eventually pull out again, Nagyung graciously drinks it up. Savors the taste like its water, like you’re the key to life itself. And while you’re able to avert a career-ending scandal by preserving her pretty face, there’s enough residue to stain her lips and chin, something you can wave off as an accident.

The same can’t be said for her body hugging shirt. It’s mostly drenched in slick and sheen. Unsalvageable.

It’s the least of your worries right now. Your legs turn wobbly, and you slump back onto the couch, your strength drained all thanks to Nagyung.

“Okay. You got me,” you say, gasping between sentences, gathering as much needed oxygen for your lungs. Placing a hand on your chest, a glance at the woman and she’s licking up her lips for whatever cum’s left. “But—I still don’t think we should—”

Nagyung gets up from the floor and removes her shirt, tossing it aside. You’re rendered speechless at the last second. She’s not wearing any bra, her tits are out in full force, nipples taut and hot. But she’s not done yet; she makes quick work of her shorts, kicking aside her shoes before baring herself completely before your eyes. The sight leaves you shellshocked, your jaw completely agape.

As if you needed any more convincing that she’s ready to do porn. She’s got the makings of a top star; the looks, the body, the expressions, the voice—everything.

Extending out her hand to you, you grab and she pulls you from the couch before taking you to the bedroom. She lands belly first on the mattress, before arching her back, showing her plump ass directly before your presence. More importantly, she’s showing you how needy is through her wet panties, which you quickly slip off. Her wet holes, splayed and throbbing, drawing you in.

“Don’t you see how badly I want it,” she tells you, straightening her body on her fours as you join her in bed. “I’m ready. Just—please shove that big fucking cock inside my slutty hole. Please.”

It’s about as lewd as it sounds, yet still sincere. She’s too good of an actress to be doing mindless pornography.

For a moment, you consider otherwise. But then she’s continuing to whine ‘Please’ in the softest tone possible, and you can’t help but concede. Besides, you knew in your heart you were never gonna turn down a body and pussy like hers.

Lining your cock between her aching core, you give Nagyung a slap on her ass. In return, she yelps. Then another. Two should be enough, one for each cheek. But the visual of her body jiggling, rippling with each palmful as her skin turns from pale white to fiery red sets you further down an addicting, dangerous spiral.

“Fuck, you’re really good at this,” you mutter, helping yourself to another palmful of ass. Her body trembles, glides down till you have her melted on the mattress. “Calling yourself a slut? Just like that? And I thought you wanted to be taken seriously as an actress.”

“No. I’m a slut,” she whines, her nails digging into the sheets, holding on for dear life. “I’m a slut for big cock, and I don’t care if it ruins me. Just please—shove that big cock inside me already. I can’t take it anymore.”

You want to test her a bit longer. More. To see how long it’ll take before she completely breaks. To find her limits and push them. And based on how needy she sounds, not that much longer.

“If you insist.” You hiss against her ear, spinning her around so she can meet you eye to eye. She’s trembling, anxious, ready to receive what she deserves. Hovering atop her, helpless and vulnerable, you gently slide in—and then she keens.

Nagyung’s cry of pleasure reaches high to the ceiling, filling the room with a sharp echo. The impact is immediate; her walls pulsate against your cock so tightly that it steals your breath. Impossible to drag yourself out. You can only gasp and catch yourself from grunting as loud as her, though it may have been better to give in.

You feel her refusing to let go, the grip she has on you nigh inescapable. But you eventually slide back out, only to slip back in. Another whine forced from her lips. She’s doing it on purpose, you conclude, a way to break you back. A means to get you to fly over the edge.

Pinning her down to the sheets, going down on her neck, Nagyung’s sensitive to the touch. She quivers beneath you while you acclimate to her warmth, pounding her needy cunt at a slow, tempered pace. The tightness of her pussy enraptures you, continues to take your breath away. She’s all but a blur in your eyes, with her voice being the only guiding light as you fuck her. Her legs slowly wrap around you, keeping you in place so that you have no outs.

Not that you had any intention of pulling away any time soon.

Especially when she’s beginning—pleading—in the most strained of tones.

“Ah—this—cock—this is so—oh my fucking God—” she whines, breathing heavily between words, her lips twisting in ecstasy. By impulse, her nails leave marks over your back, clinging to you desperately. “So fucking big—don’t you ever stop—”

“Never,” is your only response, and it’s oh so right. Your cock glides in and out of her core like water, effortless and silky. Your head is in a daze, going overboard through the unforgiving heat of Nagyung’s cunt. You’ve got a hand squeezed on her breast, surprisingly hefty for her proportions and size. You’re forcing out these noises from her, whether it may be a little cry or a deep whine. You can’t simply touch and admire her; you have to ruin her.

She’s dangerous; she’s an addiction you can’t get enough of.

The bed begins to rattle, joined by the repeated, rhythmic smacks of skin slapping against skin. Pushing further along into her cunt, like you’re going to drown if you’re not balls deep inside her. It’s unlike you to go farther than normal, but you’re past the point of rational thought; the only thing that can set your mind right is what’s waiting on the other side.

“Nakko,” you mouth, and it comes out naturally. Like it’s meant to be. You can’t stop; you’re so far gone at this point.

As you try to pull your head away, Nagyung twists her arms around your neck, wrapping you in an awkward, uncoordinated kiss. It’s sloppy and disjointed; your lips barely meet, her breath tense and hot, but passionate and sincere. Mouthing the gentlest ‘more’ and ‘so good and ‘harder’’ something you’re quite familiar with. A little reprieve and distraction from what’s to come.

But the calm doesn’t last too long. The feeling continues to balloon higher and higher till it’s you’re at the tipping point of exploding. It doesn’t help that Nagyung continues to encourage you with all the little things; her shrilly whines, her clawing at your hair and back, her body bouncing with each thrust, causing her tits to ripple, and of course, the tightness of her cunt.

“So close—I’m gonna cum—oh God I’m going to cum—” Nagyung cries, biting on her lower lip, moving her head around to find your lips again. She narrowly misses you, your lips by her chin, breathing on her neck.

“Cum for me, Nakko,” you tell her, keeping her breaths labored and erratic, your thrusts unrelenting—like you’ve ripped the brakes off your own hips. The grip around your waist is beginning to waver. “Just—cum all over me—cum for me, slut—”

That one word. That one damned word that she’d been avoiding this entire time—is what breaks her. She embraces it now. Forget about saving face; this is who Nagyung really is. A slut.

Because she cums. Hard. Her pussy quivers, her body tenses up, and her feet curl in the air as the orgasm washes over her. Tilting her head to the side, letting out this impassioned cry of pain and pleasure as you fill her to the hilt, filthy and heavenly in every single way. Fingers embedded deep into your skin, uncaring about all the marks she’s leaving on your body; a fair trade-off for what you’re leaving in her.

She washes all over you, a fresh wave of slick and nectar that floods your cock, and as you push further on, you realize you’re not any better. If anything, you’re dangerously close to falling apart too.

“Gonna fucking cum—” you hiss, kissing her cheek repeatedly, pulling on her dark locks, going down on her neck again in a last-ditch effort to delay the inevitable.

“Please—” she murmurs back, unable to resist you, unable to find a moment to catch her breath. “Don’t cum anywhere else—cum inside me—fill me up—please—”

With a tone like hers, it’s impossible to decline such an offer.

And mercifully, the end comes not long after.

Pressing Nagyung deep into the mattress, your bodies melt as one. Burying yourself deep inside her, leaving an evident mark on her neck as your connection reaches its apex. You feel it—the violent, continuous pulse of your cock unloading shot after shot inside her needy cunt till she’s drained you of your worth. A cacophony of whispers fall against your ear, the same comment of ‘so warm—so much—’ in that order, until you’re both met with a calming silence, only accompanied by your steady breaths.

Can’t move, even as your cock withers in her warmth, insisting to stay. You’ve got each other in a warm embrace, unwilling to let go. You’re resting your head right beneath hers, kissing what little of her chest you can reach. Basking in the afterglow of sex, taking all the time in the world to let everything sink in. Even now, it’s all a blur; a complete disruption of the status quo.

Tilting her head down to glance at you, Nagyung quietly breathes, her lips melding into a little smile. “Well—this is—” before she goes blank, still overwhelmed over the events that have transpired.

“Yeah,” is all you can say, just as tongue tied, like you’ve both come to the same conclusion.

As she leans in to meet you for a deep, passionate kiss, you both hear a voice echo in the distance. ‘Cut!’ the director tells you, and you both lay down, drained and exhausted. His applause echoes around the room while he approaches you both, pleased with your efforts.

While he yaps on about something, you take a moment to hush something to Nagyung. “Christ. Nakko, you’re a natural.”

She smiles at your remark, caressing the back of your head. “You’re not half-bad yourself.”

—————

“Jesus.” Nagyung looks at her phone in utter disbelief and shock. Across the table, Jiheon leans forward to take a peep herself. The title is irrelevant (but partially responsible); what matters is the view count. And to no one’s surprise, it’s a hit. Her debut ‘film’ has notched 14 million views in a little over 24 hours, a new site best, surpassing the previous record by a complete landslide. It isn’t even close; just like that, a new star is born.

“See?” Jiheon looks on, proud. “By the rate you’re going, you’ll surpass me and Chaeng in no time. And it’ll be rightfully deserved.”

“Sure, but—” Nagyung looks around the bar, trying to catch a glimpse of Chaeyoung, whom she hasn’t seen in a week. “I don’t wanna post as often as you do, you know? Make it a big deal whenever I do this. Also when my agency eventually finds out, I’m toast.

“Doesn’t matter. We all know it’s you,” Jiheon jests, raising her eyebrows playfully, much to her friend’s annoyance. By request, Nagyung had her face explicitly blurred out and cut whenever possible during sex scenes, even though she had taken up the daunting task herself instead of getting a body double. “But we’re all well protected, and this is all under the table, high security shit. So don’t worry. Besides, it pays well, if not better for a day’s work.”

Just then, Chaeyoung emerges from the restrooms, adjusting her jeans as she walks over to their table. Taking her seat besides Nagyung, she gives her a friendly kiss and embrace. “Congrats on the debut, Nakko. That was very hot, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Nagyung quietly smiles at her, tone respectful and gentle. “So—where’s he?”

Right as Chaeyoung is about to open her mouth, you come out of the bathroom, wiping off soiled tissue roll glued to your fingers and pants. Chaeyoung smirks while the other two silently giggle and suppress their laughter. It’s been a week since she’s had her hands all over you, and this is how you catch up with each other.

“So, what’s next?” Chaeyoung asks, addressing the elephant in the room. “I assume you’ll be going back to doing regular acting roles now that this is all behind you—”

“Mmm—I don’t think so.” Nagyung interrupts. “Still haven’t got a new role yet, officially, but I’ve been penciled in for one as a rich asshole student.”

“You sure that wasn’t for me?” Jiheon interjects, eliciting a hearty laugh out of everyone around the table.

“Good one. But that was a fun experience, honestly. All thanks to this guy over here,” Nagyung says, pointing her finger directly at you, drawing all the girls’ attention.

Tilting your head, you remark, “Just doing my job, that’s all there is to it.”

“Easiest job in the world, am I right?” Chaeyoung teases, smirking devilishly, like she’s ready to go another round.

Trying to remain well-mannered and polished, you reply, “It wouldn’t be as easy if she wasn’t cooperative on set, so there’s that.”

“Right.” Chaeyoung looks down, tone sarcastic, her fingers tapping on the table. “Definitely didn’t practice the night before. Am sure.”

“Anyway,” Jiheon interjects, redirecting the conversation back to the topic at hand. “So—what will you do, Nakko?”

Nagyung gives herself a moment to think. Then, her eyes pop wide open, like an idea just hit her.

“How would you three like to break the internet one more time?”

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! I hope I was able to deliver a worthwhile product; between IRL stuff dragging the whole month of February down, barely had time to truly focus on writing. And funnily enough, the three idols requested all happen to be part of the redebuting fromis lineup. I'm glad fromis will continue on in some capacity, but it's still a bummer that we lost out on Saerom, Seoyeon, and Jisun (which, considering how much they've been shelved and mismanaged since debut, is understandable). Thank you for reading!)

#kpop smut #fromis 9 smut #lee nagyung #lee chaeyoung #baek jiheon

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prettygirl-gabi · 3 months ago

Text

Title: Scent of Trouble

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

POV: First Person

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Humor, Jealous!Paige

Summary: Prank Gone Wrong (or right?)

🏷️: @elalfywhore , @yailtsv , @starfulani , @sitawita , @paige05bby , @azziswrld , @vamptizm , @authentic-girl03

⸻

I was feeling particularly mischievous today. Paige had been glued to Fortnite for the past hour, her headset on, yelling callouts to KK, Jana, Azzi, and Ice like she was in the NBA Finals. She barely noticed when I walked in and kissed the top of her head, so naturally, I had to get her attention somehow.

And what better way than a little TikTok prank?

I set my phone up discreetly on the bookshelf, angling it just right to capture the entire scene. Then, I grabbed my Brazilian perfume—aka, the one that makes Paige go feral—and doused myself in it. Not too much, just enough that she’d pick up on it immediately.

I checked myself out in the mirror. My outfit was casual but cute—leggings that made my curves pop and a fitted top that Paige had claimed was her “weakness.” Satisfied with the setup, I hit record and walked back into the room where Paige was still deep into her game.

I leaned on the doorframe and cleared my throat dramatically. “Hey, babe, I’m about to go meet someone.”

Paige didn’t even look up. “Mhm, okay. Have fun,” she mumbled, focused on building some insane structure in the game.

I rolled my eyes. Not the dismissive response. That won’t do.

I stepped closer, making sure the scent of my perfume carried through the air. “I said, I’m about to go meet someone,” I repeated, a little louder this time.

That got her attention.

Paige’s head snapped toward me so fast I thought she might get whiplash. Her nose scrunched up before she fully processed what I said. Then, her eyes narrowed, scanning me from head to toe.

“Meet who?” she asked, her voice dropping an octave.

“Just someone,” I said with a teasing shrug.

Paige ripped her headset off and turned in her chair fully, her knee bouncing like she was preparing for battle.

Azzi’s voice crackled through her headset. “Paige? Hello? Are you leaving us mid-game?”

Paige ignored her. Instead, she folded her arms and stared at me like she was trying to read my mind. “Why do you smell like that?”

“Like what?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“You know what,” she shot back, standing up. “That’s the perfume. The one you wear when you wanna drive me crazy.”

I bit my lip, barely containing my laughter. “Oh, is it? I just thought it smelled nice.”

“Nah, don’t play with me.” Paige stepped closer, her blue eyes locked onto mine. “Who are you meeting?”

“Just a friend,” I said nonchalantly.

“A friend?” Paige echoed. “And you’re wearing that perfume for a friend?”

At this point, the rest of the team had picked up on the conversation.

“Yo, what’s going on?” KK’s voice came through the headset.

“Y/N’s testing my patience, that’s what,” Paige muttered.

Jana chuckled. “Ohhh, she’s playing with fire.”

Ice, ever the instigator, chimed in. “Nah, Paige, you better handle that.”

Paige shot a glare at the headset before turning her full attention back to me. “Tell me who you’re meeting,” she demanded.

I tilted my head, still playing along. “Babe, why are you so pressed?”

“Because you smell like that and you look like that and you’re talking about meeting someone,” she said, pointing at me. “That math ain’t mathing, ma.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. “Are you jealous?”

Paige scoffed. “Jealous? No. I just—” She ran a hand through her hair, looking flustered. “I just need to know whose funeral I’m about to plan if they try something with you.”

That was it. I burst out laughing.

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, so this is funny to you?”

“A little,” I admitted, still giggling. “It’s a prank, baby.”

Paige blinked. “A what?”

I grabbed my phone from the bookshelf and showed her the recording. “A prank. The ‘I’m about to go meet someone while wearing Brazilian perfume’ TikTok trend.”

She watched the video play back, her jaw tightening. Then, before I could react, she snatched me up, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me flush against her.

“You think you’re so funny, huh?” Paige murmured, her lips brushing against my ear.

“A little,” I whispered, my heart hammering.

She exhaled, her grip tightening. “You know what’s not funny? How good you smell right now. And how you got me all worked up for nothing.”

“You’ll be okay,” I teased. “You were so mad—”

Before I could finish my sentence, Paige lifted me effortlessly and threw me onto the bed. I let out a yelp as she hovered over me, her hands caging me in.

"You're gonna pay for that little prank, ma," Paige murmured, her voice a low, husky rumble that sent shivers dancing down my spine. Her lips trailed down my neck, leaving a searing heat in their wake. I gasped, my hands instinctively reaching up to grip her shoulders.

"Paige—" I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.

"You wanna play games? Bet. Now you gotta deal with the consequences." Her words were a promise, a delicious threat that made my pulse quicken. My phone was still recording, capturing every breath, every moan, every stolen kiss. I knew the video was going to be hilarious, a perfect snapshot of Paige's possessive jealousy. But right now, in this moment, Paige had all of my attention.

And if the way her lips were currently exploring the sensitive curve of my neck was any indication, I was definitely about to regret pranking her. Or maybe… maybe I'd do it again just to see her like this, her eyes burning with a possessive fire that only I could ignite.

Her teeth nipped at my skin, sending a jolt of pure electricity through my body. I arched my back, offering her more access, my fingers digging into the muscles of her shoulders. She chuckled softly, a sound that vibrated against my skin.

"You like that, huh?" she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. "You like being at my mercy?"

I didn't answer, couldn't answer. My mind was a blur of sensation, my body humming with anticipation. She knew exactly what she was doing, knew exactly how to push my buttons, how to make me crave her touch.

Her hands left my shoulders, sliding down my body to cup my breasts through my shirt. She squeezed gently, her thumbs teasing my nipples, and I moaned, my head falling back against the pillows.

"Tell me you like it," she demanded, her voice rough.

"I like it," I gasped, the words tumbling out of my mouth. "I like it a lot."

She smirked, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "Good. Because this is just the beginning."

With a swift movement, she unbuttoned my shirt, her fingers nimble and sure. The cool air hit my skin, making my nipples harden instantly. She leaned down, her lips closing over one of them, sucking hard. I cried out, my body arching against her.

She continued to lavish attention on my breasts, her mouth and hands working in perfect harmony. She licked, sucked, and teased, driving me closer and closer to the edge. I was a tangled mess of limbs and moans, completely at her mercy.

Finally, she pulled away, her eyes locking with mine. "Are you ready for me, baby?" she asked, her voice laced with a wicked promise.

I nodded, unable to speak, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

She reached down and unbuttoned my pants, sliding them down my legs along with my underwear. I lay naked before her, vulnerable and exposed, but I didn't feel ashamed. I felt desired, wanted, cherished.

She ran her hand down my stomach, her fingers tracing the curve of my hips. I shivered, anticipating her touch. She reached my core, her fingers gently parting my folds. I gasped as she found my clit, teasing it with slow, deliberate strokes.

"Tell me what you want," she whispered, her eyes burning into mine.

"I want you," I moaned, the words barely audible. "I want you inside me."

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that sent shivers down my spine. "Not yet," she said, her voice soft but firm. "You're not ready yet."

She continued to tease me, her fingers working their magic, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. I begged her to stop, begged her to let me come, but she just laughed, a low, throaty sound that drove me wild.

"Almost there," she whispered, her fingers dancing over my clit. "Just a little bit more."

I was on the verge of losing control, my body trembling with anticipation. And then, just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, she stopped.

"Paige!" I cried out, my voice filled with frustration.

She just smiled, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Patience, baby," she said. "You'll get there. But not yet."

She leaned down and kissed me deeply, her tongue exploring my mouth, stealing my breath. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her closer, desperate for her touch.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally pulled away, her eyes locking with mine. "Now," she said, her voice husky. "Now you're ready."

She slid two fingers inside me, slowly and deliberately. I gasped, my body arching against her touch. She began to move, her fingers stroking and teasing, driving me wild with pleasure.

"That's it, baby," she whispered, her voice low and seductive. "Let go. Let me take you there."

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensation, letting her take me to the edge. My body tensed, my breath coming in ragged gasps. And then, finally, I shattered.

A wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over me, leaving me weak and trembling. I cried out, my body convulsing with each pulse.

Paige continued to stroke me, her fingers working their magic until the last wave of pleasure had subsided. I lay there, breathless and exhausted, my body still tingling with sensation.

After a few minutes, I finally managed to catch my breath. I opened my eyes and looked at Paige, her face flushed with exertion.

"That was..." I began, but I couldn't find the words to describe what I had just experienced.

"Amazing?" she suggested, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Yeah," I agreed, my voice barely a whisper. "Amazing."

I reached out and touched her face, my fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. "Thank you," I said, my voice filled with gratitude.

She smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that melted my heart. "You're welcome," she said. "Any time."

I wanted to return the favor, wanted to pleasure her the way she had pleasured me. I reached for her pants, but she stopped me.

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "Not tonight. Tonight is all about you."

I frowned, disappointed. "But I want to—"

"I know," she said, cutting me off. "But trust me. I'm good. Just let me enjoy watching you."

She leaned back against the headboard, propping herself up with her arms. She watched me with a hungry gaze, her eyes filled with desire.

I blushed, feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny. "What?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"Nothing," she said, her voice soft. "I'm just enjoying the view."

I giggled, feeling my cheeks flush even more. I reached for the blanket, wanting to cover myself, but she stopped me.

"Don't," she said, her voice firm. "I want to see you."

I hesitated for a moment, then slowly lowered the blanket. I lay naked before her, feeling vulnerable and exposed, but also strangely empowered.

She continued to watch me, her eyes roaming over my body, lingering on every curve and contour. I squirmed under her gaze, feeling a mixture of arousal and embarrassment.Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her eyes widening in surprise.

"What is it?" I asked, curious.

She shook her head, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. "It's the group chat," she said. "They're calling us nasty."

I burst out laughing, remembering the TikTok prank and the recording on my phone. "Oops," I said, my voice filled with mirth. "Guess we forgot we were on the game."

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Oh my god," she muttered. "This is so embarrassing."

I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "It's okay," I said. "It's just a little prank. Everyone does it."

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Yeah, but not like this," she said. "We're gonna be the laughingstock of the team."

I shrugged, not caring. "So what?" I said. "At least we had fun."

She smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that made my heart skip a beat. "Yeah," she said. "We did."

She leaned down and kissed me again, a slow, lingering kiss that sealed our connection. And in that moment, I knew that no matter what anyone else thought, we were perfect for each other

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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httpsserene · 4 months ago

Note

CANGRATS ON 3K!!! it alright if you can't but, i was wondering if I could request the car wash kink rating for danny, max, oscar, yuki, and franco with the diy porn prompt

#3k vday celly

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i always get stuck on writing one of these for some reason lol. have a bunch more requests from the celly that are going to be dropping every night this week morst likely! remember, the last day to submit a celly request is on valentine's day !!!happy 3k 🤍 and thank you for requesting, babe xxx

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 (𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞) 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 fem!bipoc!reader x mv.1 | dr. 3 | yt. 22 | fc. 43 | op. 81 cw under the cut.

oral and vaginal sex. light humiliation kink in max's drabble?

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

Daniel’s eyes are starting to burn under the harsh light of the computer monitor. He’s been half-hard from the moment he started reviewing the raw footage, and he’s tempted to rub one out so he can edit without the constant throbbing of his arousal. Nobody can blame him for getting distracted while he tries to decide which of the three angles he recorded of you riding him in reverse cowgirl is the best. He knew convincing you that buying three separate camera setups was necessary because it allowed him this dilemma. Should he use the angle that shows your chest bouncing from the front? Or, the one from behind, where it shows his muscled abdomen and the plush, brown, skin of your ass marred by bruises of his handprints? Or, the close-up angle that shows where your cunt greedily swallows his cock? It’s an impossible choice, so he decides to alternate between all three. He clicks open File Explorer to save the video, wincing when he sees that the dedicated external hard drive containing all of your sex tapes is 98% full.

Franco’s struggling to keep his phone steady as your tongue dances around him, moaning loudly when the head of his dick is caught in the warm squeeze of your throat. He looks away from the phone screen to watch the tears spill over your waterline, his groan of pleasure wobbling at the sight. When he looks back, the camera angle has fallen away, only catching the view of his hand lightly resting around your neck. His arm holding the phone is weak, and he has to move his hand from your throat to help focus the lens back on where he’s fucking into your mouth. Capturing the perfect angle becomes unimportant when he drops his phone on the floor to carefully guide you off of his cock, the video’s focus now is the ceiling. The audio paints a much more in-depth picture; sounds of the two of you kissing, the rustling of the bedsheets, skin clapping, the creaking of the bed, and the debauched noises of satisfaction from both of you echoing around the room. It gives him another reason to convince you to let him film another sex tape, and he’ll be sure the sight of him fucking you is front and center.

It’s one of Yuki’s fantasies. He didn’t think he’d ever have the courage to ask if you’d be willing to film a sex tape with him, considering that if it somehow leaked, it would have the potential to ruin your livelihood. One night, during a drunken game of truth or dare, you shyly admitted to wanting to make a sex tape and Yuki took the chance to make his fantasy come true. He’s practically filming in total darkness, the flash of his phone camera solely illuminating where he’s thrusting into you. Even though there are no identifying factors being shown (besides the contrast of your skin tones), he’s incredibly careful about making sure there are no easy tells— keeping your faces out of frame, having you muffle your whimpers into a pillow, and catching his breathy groans behind his hand. He swears the absence of noise coming from your mouths amplifies how wet you sound around him; he can’t wait to see if that’s the case when he watches the video afterward. There’s a feeling dancing at the base of his skull; it’s screaming that he’s some sort of freak for enjoying this, and it has him rushing toward his climax ridiculously quicker than he’d like, but the fluttering of your walls around him lets him know that you’re in the same boat. He wonders if there are any spare face masks hidden somewhere in the apartment; he’d show more than where your bodies meet if your faces are hidden.

Max is camera-shy. He knows it’s kind of ironic, given the amount of cameras that are focused on him on any given race weekend, but he can’t handle the attention during sex. When you both watched your first sex tape, Max was mortified. He can’t believe he looks and sounds like that during sex, the recording showing him just how desperate he is for you. Obviously, he feels the way his body responds to you, but he didn’t expect it to look so debauched on camera. It’s not like he’s ashamed by how good you make him feel, it’s just that he finds it humiliating to see it—regardless of the way you adamantly insisted that you find it hot as fuck. Now that he’s aware of how he looks, whenever the camera is on he isn’t able to devote all of his attention to you because he’s fixated on stifling his reactions—which ruins the point of filming a sex tape, and the fun of sex for both you and him. Max knows the video highlights the furious blush running from his cheeks down to his chest as he distractedly eats you out. He exhales heavily in relief, his scalp stinging deliciously when you tug him away from your cunt with a hand fisted in the mess of his blond hair, and he eagerly rushes to stop and delete the recording before you can even finish saying the words.

Oscar isn’t one to kink shame, but sex tapes are a no-go for him. He thinks it’s irresponsible to record his sex life, especially when you consider the effect it could have on his reputation and career if a video of him were to leak. It’s an irrational fear of his: he thinks that no matter how securely stored the sex tape could be, it would end up on the internet where millions of people would see it and then his reputation would be ruined forever. He’s a little terrified when you send him risqué photos, let alone nudes for that exact reason. It’s not like he doesn’t appreciate it—he thinks you’re mouthwateringly attractive when you’re fully clothed, of course, he appreciates the pictures of you in lingerie or less—but he’s going to scold you for sending it after he gets off to it…because what if that was the exact moment someone hacked into his phone and got their grubby hands on your nudes and posted them? Oscar hears how irrational he sounds when he’s telling you that, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking it. You lovingly call him paranoid, but you do respect his boundaries—he’s much more amenable to seeing you tease yourself with a vibrator live on Facetime rather than watching a recording of the last time you guys had sex.

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x black!reader #f1 x poc!reader #max verstappen x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #franco colapinto x reader #oscar piastri x reader #max verstappen smut #daniel ricciardo smut #franco colapinto smut #yuki tsunoda smut #oscar piastri smut #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 smut #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #httpss :// 3k vday celly.

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clarkeysbedchem · 2 months ago

Text

crashing out

will lenney x fem reader

summary: you’re a driver in formula one and get into a serious crash whilst will is filming

masterlist | main masterlist

The sun burned down onto the tarmac of Imola, heat shimmering off the asphalt, tension vibrating through the paddock. You were locked in, your helmet on, gloves fastened, strapped into the cockpit of your Alpine with intense focus. It was race day, a stormy mix of nerves and adrenaline flowing through your veins, just the way you liked it.

Back in London, the usual chaos of Will’s filming schedule was unfolding. He and James were halfway through a new second channel video, that obviously including the famous good bin bad bin, and a bunch of nonsensical products and a very confused production team. But Will wasn’t really in it today, not fully.

His mind focusing on the race happening just two hours away and the fact that you were on track.

His eyes constantly flickering to the small screen of Orla’s laptop that was propped up behind the camera setup, streaming the race live. The crew knew what to do, the same ordeal happening every race weekend for the past two years. Ieuan had helped rig the stream to keep it discreet but visible, Orla had her phone open with live race telemetry, and Aby occasionally piped up with lap times between takes.

“She’s in P6 now,” Orla called out, pretending to adjust a mic on James’s hoodie.

Will exhaled through his nose, half-relieved, “Come on, baby,” he muttered under his breath.

James threw a playful glance his way, “You’re more invested in that screen than this whole video.”

“Mate, my girlfriend is doing 300kph in a tin can. Excuse me if my brain’s not on what products are shit,” Will snapped, though there wasn’t any real heat behind it.

They filmed for a while longer, bits of James making crude comments, quick brand deals, an argument about cheese that Will couldn’t even fake interest in. The screen blinked with lap 42. You were holding P5 now, DRS on the car ahead. The team radio crackled faintly in the background, and Will couldn’t stop smiling.

Until everything stopped.

The camera was rolling; James was mid-sentence.

And then: the sound.

A collective, visceral gasp echoed from Orla’s side of the room.

The screen showed your car, well what was left of your car, no, hurtling into the barrier at Tamburello. Carbon fibre exploding on the impact, debris skittering like fireflies across the track. You had lost the rear. Hard.

First was smoke and then the silence followed.

Will froze.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He stood so fast his chair skidded back with a screech.

His face drained of any colour as he stepped toward the screen like it could give him answers, “Where is she? Where is she? why haven’t they cut to her?”

The camera angle changed and there was med staff sprinted toward the wreckage with the safety car being deployed but there was still no sign of movement.

“Fucking hell,” Will whispered, his hand shaking as he reached for his phone. He hadn’t even realized James had crossed the room until he was pulled into a tight, grounding hug.

“She’s tough, mate,” James said, trying to keep his own voice steady, “She’s the toughest person I’ve ever met. Just breathe.”

Will didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was spiraling.

Aby handed him a glass of water, as Orla was trying to call contacts at Alpine. Ieuan was frantically pulling up Twitter, live F1 feeds, anything. The screen now showed the red flag.

Will sat on one of the chair, his shoulders shaking as his breaths came out in broken gasps with his knuckles digging into his eyes.

“I should’ve gone with her,” he muttered over and over, “Why didn’t I go with her?”

The flight to Bologna felt like years.

Will hadn’t slept, not even a minute. His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and puffy by the time the cab dropped him outside the hospital. He could barely comprehend the ride over or entering the hospital. All he remembered was the receptionist saying your name, confirming you were okay and stable and in surgery.

The rest of the team had been texting him nonstop. Alpine had released a brief statement: minor concussion, fractured wrist, bruised ribs and out for a few weeks. But you were alert and talking.

Still, nothing would calm Will until he saw you, until he saw with his own eyes that you were okay.

Hours had passed and Will paced and he waited.

Until finally, a nurse gave him the nod, “She’s waking up.”

He slipped into the dimly lit recovery room, nerves shredding him from the inside out. You were just lying there, pale, bruised but alive. Wires and monitors tethered to you, bandages wrapped around your arm and forehead.

And then you blinked, “Will?” Your voice was rasped and throat dry.

He rushed to your side instantly, gripping your good hand like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, “Hi, love.”

You squinted at him, studying his tired, tearstained face, “Bloody hell. You look like you hit the barrier.”

Despite everything, a soft, hoarse chuckle escaped you.

Will let out a laugh that was a half-sob, dropping his forehead to the bed beside your arm, “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered.

You squeezed his hand, “Didn’t plan on it.”

He looked up, brushing your hair back carefully, “I was watching with everyone. I thought, I thought I lost you.”

“I’m okay,” you whispered, “You ain’t getting rid of me that easy, Lenney.”

Will blinked at you, voice low and cracking, “You scared the absolute shit out of me.”

“Guess I had to make sure you’d fly to Italy.”

You both laughed, broken and breathless, but the sound was full of love and relief. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured, “I love you so much.”

“Good,” you said, smiling sleepily. “Because I plan on being very dramatic and milking this crash for at least a month. You’re on tea duty.”

“Deal.”

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honeyscara · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 4

Sieun tutor masterlist | whc masterlist

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A few days passed in a silence that stretched wider than either of you wanted to admit. The air felt heavier in the absence—like something had been left unfinished, cut off too soon. You stopped showing up for tutoring sessions, your evenings suddenly hollow, the quiet in your room louder than any conversation could’ve been.

And Sieun didn’t reach out. Not a single message. Not a call. No half-hearted “where are you,” no cold reminders to revise limiting reagents.

Just nothing.

At first, you tried to brush it off. Told yourself you needed the break. That maybe he was glad for the space. But the ache didn’t fade. It settled deep, somewhere behind your chest, where all the unsaid things kept piling up.

You didn’t know why it hurt so much. Maybe because it felt like he hadn’t just pushed you away—he’d shut the door and locked it.

It wasn’t until you were passing through the hallway outside your classroom, voices echoing faintly over the low hum of conversation, that something changed.

“Yeah, I heard there was a fight at the union”

“Since baku is back, it's gonna be a real bad scene.”

You froze mid-step, a chill crawling up your spine. You recognized that name. Baku? Sieun’s friend..Your mind went blank for a moment, then flooded all at once—with images you didn’t want to imagine.

You pulled your phone out with shaking hands, heart hammering against your chest like it was trying to escape.

Dialed his number.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then straight to voicemail.

You stared at the screen, throat tightening. Tried again. Nothing. The silence on the other end felt heavier than it should’ve—like it knew something you didn’t.

“Pick up,” you whispered, like maybe he’d hear you through the static.

But he didn’t.

The streets outside were dim and damp from the early evening drizzle, but you didn’t hesitate. Grabbing your jacket off the chair, you shoved your phone into your pocket and headed out the door, the worry pulling at your every step.

The city felt too loud and too quiet at the same time—cars passing like distant thunder, streetlights casting pale shadows across the sidewalks. Your breath puffed out in quick, shallow bursts, mixing with the cold air.

You didn’t know what you’d find when you got to his place. But you couldn’t sit still anymore.Not when every part of you was screaming that something was wrong.

You turned the corner near Sieun’s building, eyes scanning the sidewalk, windows, anything—anything that would tell you he was okay.

That’s when you saw him.

Baku.

He was running—fast, almost reckless, his breath visible in the cold night air. His jacket flared behind him as he moved, like he hadn’t even taken the time to zip it up properly. There was something wild in his expression, something desperate.

You barely had time to register it before you called out.

“Baku!”

He skidded to a stop, eyes wide as they snapped toward you. He looked surprised to see you—but more than that, he looked worried. Really worried.

You rushed up to him, breath catching, words stumbling out too fast. “Where’s Sieun? Do you know where he is? I’ve been calling—he’s not answering—I heard something happened with the union and—”

“He’s not answering?” Baku interrupted, his voice low and tense, more to himself than to you. “Shit.”

“Please,” you pressed, your voice cracking. “Where is he?”

Baku hesitated.

And that’s when your stomach dropped.

He didn’t have to say anything. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened. The way his eyes flicked to the street like he was wasting time just standing there. The way he didn’t meet your gaze when he finally muttered, “Sieun and the others… they’re in trouble.”

Your heart skipped. Then sank.

“What kind of trouble?”

“There was a setup,” Baku said quickly. “seongje has them"

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

It was immediate, firm. Too firm.

“It’s too dangerous,” he added, already starting to move again. “Go home.”

But you didn’t move. “I’m not going home.”

“You don’t understand what this is, alright? You shouldn’t be involved.”

“I already am!” you shouted, louder than you meant to. Your voice trembled, chest tight. “I don’t care what kind of trouble it is—he’s not answering, Baku. What if—what if something happened to him?”

He paused mid-step, back still turned to you. You could see his fists clench at his sides, shoulders rigid.

“I can’t just wait,” you said, quieter now, pleading. “Please.”

The silence between you stretched—taut and strained.

Then finally, he turned.

His expression was still tense, unreadable. But his eyes had softened, just slightly.

“…Stay close,” he said. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

And just like that, you were running beside him—into the dark, into the unknown, heart pounding louder than your footsteps.

The door to the rooftop slammed open with a metallic groan, the sound swallowed quickly by the wind rushing through the night air. You stumbled out behind Baku, breath ragged, lungs burning. The cold bit into your skin, but you barely noticed.

Because they were there.

Two figures—crumpled near the center of the rooftop, sprawled against the concrete.

One of them was Sieun.

You barely registered the other man beside him, but something in your chest tugged at the name Seongje. Baku had mentioned this name earlier. His suit was dirty, blood staining the collar, and his eyes were half-shut like he was slipping in and out of consciousness.

But your eyes—your whole focus—locked onto Sieun.

He was lying on his side, one hand limp on the rooftop gravel, the other tucked awkwardly beneath him. His face was smeared with blood, a cut trailing down from his temple. There were bruises already blooming across his cheekbone, his lip split, his breathing shallow.

“Sieun,” you breathed, frozen.

Then your body moved before your thoughts could catch up. You ran—knees hitting the ground hard beside him, hands trembling as you reached for his shoulders.

“Sieun. Hey—hey, wake up. Come on—” Your fingers gripped the fabric of his jacket. “You idiot—what the hell were you thinking?!”

Your voice cracked as you shook him gently, trying to rouse him. The panic was pouring in now, swallowing reason. “You didn’t answer your phone. You’re lying here like this and I—I thought—” You blinked hard, refusing to cry. “God, I swear to God if you die I’m gonna kill you.”

He stirred, just barely

“Sieun—hey, stay awake,” you said, voice tight, hands pressed against his jacket like you could somehow keep him grounded.

His eyes fluttered half open, unfocused. “Suho…”

Your breath hitched.

“I got into a fight again,” he murmured, voice barely audible, like a secret slipping out between cracked lips.

And then—his eyes slid shut.

Your heart dropped. “Sieun?! No—hey! Don’t you dare pass out on me—!” Your voice cracked, thick with fear as you gripped his shoulders, shaking him. “You absolute idiot—!”

But he didn’t move.

The rooftop lights flickered in the distance. Gravel scraped as Baku shouted something to Gotak, running to the others still standing. You could barely hear it over the rushing in your ears, over the police sirens growing louder and louder. Somewhere in the haze, the pain in your chest twisted until you couldn’t tell if it was rage or heartbreak.

You leaned closer, fingers brushing his bruised face, and your voice trembled.

“Please be okay, Sieun…”

A few hours later, the sun had already set. The streets were quiet, the chaos from earlier now just a heavy weight sitting in your chest. You clutched a small plastic bag in your hands—snacks, water, and a fresh roll of bandages.

Your steps echoed in the empty hallway as you approached the familiar door of their hangout room. The one place that had slowly become a safe haven for all of them. You paused just outside it, heart thudding unevenly. For some reason, your fingers felt stiff when you raised them to knock.

What if he’s still unconscious? What if something’s wrong? What if he…

You shook your head.

You knocked gently, then pushed the door open with your shoulder.

Inside, the light was dim, the blinds half drawn. You spotted Baku first, sitting on the edge of a desk, arms crossed but relaxed. He looked up at you and gave you a warm, tired smile that melted some of the tension in your chest.

Then your eyes shifted—and you froze.

Sieun was awake.

He sat propped up against the wall.His uniform was a mess, bruises painting his cheek and jaw, but his eyes—dark, tired, yet alert—were open, staring ahead quietly. The air felt heavier than before. Like the tail end of an argument still hung in the silence.

He didn’t speak when you entered. Neither did Baku at first. Then Baku tilted his head toward Sieun and smirked.

“Look, Sieun,” he said with a teasing grin, “your girlfriend’s here.”

Silence.

You froze in the doorway. Sieun’s gaze slowly turned to you, just as yours flicked toward him—and both of you immediately looked away, the air thick with stunned awkwardness.

Baku just laughed under his breath, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, you two. I’m just messing around,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Anyway, I gotta take a call real quick. You two lovebirds stay put till I get back.”

He winked, then slipped out the door before either of you could respond, leaving it slightly ajar behind him.

You stood there for a second longer, unsure of what to say. The bag in your hands crinkled quietly.

“…I brought snacks,” you mumbled, eyes flicking toward Sieun, whose face had gone slightly red beneath the bruises.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

You hesitated for a moment longer before slowly walking over. The room felt too quiet, like even the air was waiting to see what you’d do next. You crouched down in front of Sieun, setting the bag aside, and sat cross-legged across from him. He watched you quietly.

For a few minutes, neither of you said anything. Just the soft hum of the school’s old lights and the occasional creak of the building settling.

You fidgeted with your hands in your lap.

“…I’m sorry,” you finally whispered, not quite able to meet his eyes. “For mentioning suho without knowing…”

Sieun’s gaze stayed fixed on you, unmoving. But his jaw tensed slightly.

He spoke after a pause. “Why were you here?”

You hesitated.

“…I was worried,” you said quietly. The words stuck in your throat, and you felt the heat rising before you could stop it. “You didn’t answer your phone, and Baku sounded so—”

Your voice cracked. You bit your lip hard and turned your face away from him, your fingers curling into your sleeves.

A few tears slipped down before you could catch them, falling silently onto your hands. You tried to wipe them away quickly, embarrassed and frustrated.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, voice trembling.

Then Sieun shifted.

You looked up, startled by the soft touch against your cheek.

He leaned forward slightly, his bruised face calm, but his eyes filled with warmth.His thumb gently brushed away one of your tears, his hand rough and warm against your skin.

You froze under his touch.

“…Don’t cry,” he said, voice low, nearly a murmur. “It’s okay. I'm okay”

The air between you both changed. It wasn’t just awkward silence anymore—it was something tender. Your breath hitched slightly as his thumb lingered on your cheek, wiping away the last trace of tears.

Without realizing it, you both shifted slightly closer.

Your hand slowly reached out and gently wrapped around his, grounding yourself in the warmth of his touch. He didn’t pull away.

Your other hand moved up almost hesitantly, brushing a knuckle against the cut on his cheekbone. You winced softly at how raw and painful it looked.

“Does it hurt?” you asked, your voice hushed and laced with concern.

Sieun didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched your face like he was trying to figure something out—like you were a puzzle he hadn’t thought to solve before.

“…I’ve had worse,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough, but there was a flicker of something gentler beneath it. Something he rarely showed.

He didn’t move away from your touch. If anything, his fingers curled slightly around yours.

Your fingers still lingered near the cut, brushing lightly against his skin. His hand, still in yours, was warm and steady. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, loud and fast. .His gaze dropped from your eyes for a moment… to your lips.

And you noticed.

You froze, lips parting slightly as your breath caught in your throat. His eyes flicked back up, just for a second, but the damage was done. Your stomach twisted, nerves fluttering like wild wings, and you looked at his lips too—just a second too long.

You swallowed hard, suddenly all too aware of how close your faces had become. Of the fact that neither of you had let go of the other’s hand. That this tension wasn't the awkward kind anymore—it was charged, intimate.

Sieun’s head tilted slightly, barely perceptible. You weren't sure if he was going to close the distance—but your body wasn’t moving away. You didn’t want to.

You both leaned in… just a little more.

And then—

click.

The door creaked open, and Baku’s voice broke through the spell. “—Oh..Ohhh. My bad.”

You both jolted back slightly, like two kids caught sneaking candy. Your hands separated, but not before Sieun’s fingers brushed against your palm for a second longer than necessary.

Baku stood at the doorway with a look that screamed, I totally saw that. He raised his brows and smirked. “Well damn. Should I have knocked? Were you two gonna kiss?”

You covered your face with your hands, cheeks blazing, while Sieun gave Baku his signature deadpan glare—but his ears were visibly red.

Baku chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. “Relax, I’m just here to say it’s getting late. You both should head home. Before something actually happens and I have to give the talk.”

“Shut up,” Sieun muttered, but there wasn’t any real bite to it.

Baku winked as he stepped back, holding the door open. “Take your time. But not too much time.”

You and Sieun shared one last look before standing up slowly—neither of you saying anything, but the tension from before still lingered, quietly simmering beneath the surface. Something had changed. Maybe nothing was said out loud… but it was definitely felt.

The air outside the club room felt cooler, calmer—even though your heart was still racing. The quiet buzz of the night surrounded you.

You were still a little flustered, trying to process what just almost happened inside. Sieun hadn’t said much after Baku’s interruption, just gave you a quick glance and a nod before sitting back down, arms crossed—cool as always, but you could tell he was just as thrown off.

“Hey,” Baku’s voice brought you back, softer now. “You heading home?”

You blinked and nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’ll walk with you.” He stretched, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “It’s dark. And you look like your brain’s still buffering.”

You let out a small laugh, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Gee, thanks.”

He smiled, that warm, easy smile that made it feel like everything would be okay. As the two of you walked side by side down the school steps, the tension from earlier slowly melted away, replaced by a quiet comfort.

For a while, neither of you said anything. Just the sound of your footsteps and the soft breeze winding through the trees.

Then Baku glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “So… that was a moment back there, huh?”

You groaned. “Don’t start.”

He chuckled, hands in his pockets. “I’m not teasing… okay, maybe a little. But for real—you care about him a lot, huh?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. I do.”

Baku smiled again, but this time it was more thoughtful. “He’s a bit of a mess. But I think… he needs someone like you.”

You glanced at him. “And what about me?”

“You?” He looked at you with gentle eyes. “I think you need someone who sees how much you care. Who doesn’t take it for granted. And Sieun—he’s not great with words, but… you saw it too, didn’t you? The way he looked at you.”

Your cheeks warmed again, and Baku laughed softly.

“Anyway,” he added, “just… go easy on him. He’s probably still figuring out his feelings. You both are. But I’m rooting for you.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You are?”

“Of course. You’re my friend too now.”

You smiled, heart a little lighter, and bumped his shoulder. “Thanks, Baku.”

“No problem.” He grinned. “But no funny business in the club room .”

You burst out laughing, and the sound echoed down the quiet street as the sky darkened above you, stars beginning to blink into view. And just like that, with Baku’s easy presence beside you, the world didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

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