#tiktok edits set to wait for it

[arbiter-of-truth]

say what you will about hamilton but nothing goes harder than literally any edit set to 'wait for it'

[beiyuanism]

ough the effect during tagging out in today's freeze tag was like fucking me up a little for some reason and it's so unserious but i finally realised. i recently edited sorry about my nan and cdiyw. with that same blue curtain background. and i put the same desaturation on everything but red in the colouring. and it was the shade of that desaturated blue curtain that was just straight up messing with my brain somehow. i have been defeated by a colour.

[psformybss]

“Current Boyfriend”

drew starkey x actress!reader

You’re both curled up on the couch in your shared apartment, a rare day off where neither of you is on set, flying out, or doing press. The weather outside is gray and cozy, rain pattering gently against the windows. Inside, though, it’s chaotic—because you’ve decided to film a TikTok with Drew, and he doesn’t know he’s about to be ambushed.

The camera is subtly perched on the coffee table, angled just right to catch both of you—him in a hoodie and sweatpants, you in one of his old t-shirts with your legs tucked under his. He’s sipping from a mug of coffee, blissfully unaware that you’re seconds away from disrupting his peace.

You hit record and turn to him, speaking sweetly.

“Okay, I’m gonna ask my current boyfriend some questions about me to see if he gets them all right.”

You deliver the line casually, almost too casually.

Drew pauses mid-sip, lowering the mug slowly as his eyebrows draw together. “I’m sorry,” he says, blinking. “Your what?”

You keep a straight face. “My current boyfriend.”

He tilts his head, mouth falling slightly open in a way that’s both confused and deeply offended. “Current boyfriend???”

“Yeah,” you say, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Current. Boyfriend.”

He stares at you for a solid three seconds like he’s waiting for the punchline. When you don’t offer one, he lets out a disbelieving laugh, sitting up straighter and adjusting the throw blanket over your legs.

“Oh, word?” he says, eyes narrowing. “So I’m… just the latest edition? Like a damn iPhone?”

“Basically,” you reply like this isn’t escalating fast.

Drew dramatically clutches his chest. “That’s wild. That’s real wild. Here I am, thinking I’m your man, and I’m just out here holding the title temporarily.”

You smile sweetly. “That’s right. So let’s see how well my current boyfriend knows me. First question—what’s my go-to coffee order?”

He eyes you with mock suspicion but plays along. “Iced oat milk vanilla latte, light ice, no straw, because the turtles.”

“Correct,” you say, nodding.

“Damn right,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Current boyfriend. You’re lucky I’m caffeinated.”

“Next question,” you continue, completely ignoring his growing dramatic offense. “What’s my favorite movie?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Pride and Prejudice. 2005. Keira Knightley. You force me to watch it at least three times a year.”

“And you love every second,” you grin.

“That’s beside the point,” he shoots back. “You know what? Since I’m apparently just one boyfriend in the rotating cast—”

“Oh my god,” you groan, laughing as you reach over to slap his arm lightly.

“—I’m demoting you too,” he continues. “Effective immediately, you’re no longer my girlfriend. You’re my main side piece.”

You choke. “Your WHAT?”

Drew sips his coffee again, raising an eyebrow smugly. “My main. Side. Piece. I got a whole fictional roster now. You’re in the top three, but like, don’t get comfortable.”

“DREW,” you shriek, laughing so hard your body folds over. “Not the main side piece.”

He shrugs like he’s talking about the weather. “Hey, don’t be mad. I’m just following your energy, sweetheart. Current boyfriend, main side piece—it’s giving equal chaos.”

You wipe a tear from the corner of your eye, breathless from laughing. “You are so unwell.”

“Says the woman casually demoting me to temporary status on a public platform,” he fires back. “Nah, I’m gonna start wearing a name tag that says ‘Drew: boyfriend in progress.’”

You regain some composure and lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He automatically shifts to accommodate you, his arm looping around your waist like it’s muscle memory.

“Okay,” you mumble into his hoodie. “You’re not temporary. You’re like… forever trial version.”

He gasps again. “You did not just call me a free trial!”

You dissolve into another fit of laughter, body shaking against his as he pretends to be personally victimized.

“Thirty-day money-back guarantee,” he mutters under his breath.

You lift your head just enough to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m keeping you, you big baby.”

“That’s what they all say,” he deadpans.

“Drew.”

“Until the next current boyfriend comes along.”

You slap his chest lightly again, both of you still grinning like idiots.

The video ends with him tackling you sideways onto the couch, blanket tangling around your legs as you squeal.

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

“Wait, so you’re telling me that I have fans? I’m not even famous— I’m so confused, baby.” Steve looks up at Eddie with scrunched eyebrows. He is currently making a demo project to show his kindergarteners for their art activity on the first day of school and multitasking is not something that Steve can handle at the moment. “I mean, I’m your boyfriend who was in the back of one tik-tak—”

“It’s TikTok, babe—”

“Whatever. Can you make them stop?”

Eddie sits down across from Steve. “Stop what, baby?”

“Stop them from making edits of me!” Steve is exasperated in a silly way, slamming his paintbrush into the cup of murky water next to him. “Robin keeps sending them to me and it’s just the same clips of me setting up my pump. Apparently my ‘arms are sexy??’”

“Your arms are very sexy, my love.” Eddie pauses. He moves to sit next to Steve and turns Steve’s chair to face him, cradling his face in his palms. “I’m not sure I can stop a bunch of people from making those videos, but maybe we can make a video together where you explain what diabetes is?”

Steve seems to question it at first, but then he starts to smile and nods his head. “That sounds like a really good idea, babe! You’re so smart. I love you.” Steve leans forward and kisses him.

“I love you, too.”

They sit in comfortable silence before Eddie’s phone beeps with the dexcom notification saying that Steve is either too low or too high. He quickly checks it while Steve ignores it and his eyes almost bulge out of his head.

Eddie stands quickly and grabs an apple juice from the fridge. “Drink this, Steve. You’re at 72.” He uncaps the drink and slides it over to Steve.

“You’re the best, you know that, right?” Steve says after a sip of his juice.

Eddie just smiles, the fondness seeping from the crinkles by his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks.

[prettygirl-gabi]

So Ma, What Do You Wanna Do?

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Short!Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings

Summary: never were just friends…

A/N: starting off Pride with a Hard launch fic

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @zizi-bee-yapping , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav

The thing about dating Paige Bueckers—America’s golden girl, walking highlight reel, everyone’s favorite hooper—is that no matter how private she tries to be, people watch.

A lot.

Not just fans.

Teammates.

Coaches.

Her family.

Random baristas who pause halfway through her iced matcha because “Wait, are you Paige Bueckers?” And since I’m, well… me—barely 5’2” on a good day wearing heels and introverted enough to disappear in a crowd—we’ve been playing this very careful game.

To the outside world, we’re best friends.

Roommates, if anyone asks.

And yeah, besties hold hands sometimes, maybe nap on each other on planes, maybe share hoodies and match sneakers—but PDA?

Affection that reads as romantic?

Never too much of that. Not yet.

But today? Today changed everything.

It started on a lazy afternoon. Paige had a the day off from practice, and I was curled on the couch in one of her oversized Wings tees—correction: our oversized Wings tees—scrolling through TikTok while she finished up a call with her agent in the other room.

I was bored. Dangerous level bored. So naturally, I fell into a rabbit hole of Paige edits.

Then, BookTok edits/ trends.

The trends kept coming up.

One in particular.

You know the one.

The tall person (Paige). The short person (me). The quiet tension. The “two fingers under the chin, lift your face and make you look them in the eye” trope that sent people feral in the comments.

I’d seen versions of it all week.

And now? All I could think was: Would it really be that hard to recreate?

So I did what any slightly chaotic, secretly in love girlfriend would do.

I set my phone up on the entry shelf behind a plant—just enough coverage to keep it hidden, but still in full frame.

Paige wouldn’t notice. She was too busy dragging herself around the apartment like a sleepy golden retriever in slides.

“Paaaaige,” I sing-songed.

She appeared around the corner, barefoot, hair pulled back, sleepy eyes scanning me like I was up to something.

“What, baby?”

“Dinner,” I said, backing into the doorway casually. “Should we eat out or stay in?”

She shrugged, walking closer putting her hair in a low messy bun. “You wanna go out? I’m good either way. What are you in the mood for?”

I was already fidgeting.

Avoiding her gaze like usual when it came to that topic.

Going out together as just the two of us still felt… vulnerable. I hated being the one people stared at when they recognized Paige in public.

Hated the weird math they did in their heads when they saw us holding hands like, wait… that’s not just a friend, right?

And Paige always noticed when I started deflecting.

“You’re doing the thing again,” she said quietly, stepping closer, her frame easily boxing me in against the doorway.

I glanced away, lips twitching. “What thing?”

“That thing where you look at every surface except my eyes.”

“I dunno,” I mumbled. “That’s why I’m asking you, P.”

She tilted her head, slow and soft. “Nah, baby. We’re not doing that.”

She raised her hand—two fingers under my chin—and lifted my face so we were eye to eye.

Camera still rolling.

“Look at me and tell me what you wanna do, mama.”

I felt myself short-circuit. Literally buffering. If this were a live stream, I’d be frozen in 144p with the spinning wheel of death.

“I—um,” I blinked, eyes wide. “I mean—like—we could go out if you want—”

She hummed. “So, m’onna ask again-ma, what do you wanna do? Because we don’t have to go out if you don’t wanna. I get it. I really do.”

God, her voice was low. Kind. Patient. Gentle dominance at its finest. Her fingers never dropped from my chin.

I melted.

Folded.

Like a human pretzel.

I had nothing left. All thoughts gone.

“We can… we can eat out tonight,” I whispered. “Don’t really feel like cooking. Plus by the time we umm… we ordered and it gets here it’ll be like warm.”

She nodded then leaned in, kissed the side of my forehead, then a quick soft one on my lips and said, “Cool. Get dressed. We’ll hit that TexMex place you like.”

She walked off like she didn’t just drop a TikTok nuke. (Which she had no idea about)

Two hours later, we were seated in a corner booth of La Cabaña, half a bowl into the best queso in Dallas, and I pulled out my phone like it wasn’t burning a hole in my pocket.

“I, uh… may’ve recorded something earlier.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Of me?”

I turned the screen to face her and hit play.

We both watched as she slowly, unknowingly gave the world the softest, most heart-melting alpha moment in TikTok history.

Me, looking like I was trying not to spontaneously combust. Paige, calm and smooth and built like a tall glass of “yes ma’am.”

The trend. Executed. Perfectly.

“Oh,” she said after the video ended. “Baby, you really folded.”

I covered my face with my hand. “I told you. You had me buffering like a broken smart fridge.”

She smiled, barely fighting a laugh. “You gonna post that?”

“Thinking about it, but I dunno” I mumbled.

She shrugged and sipped her horchata. “Post it if you want. I really don’t care. Just know…” She leaned across the table, eyes dropping to my lips. “The PDA? It’s not gonna be ‘friendly hand holding’ after that video goes up.”

I choked on a tortilla chip.

She smirked.

Once back at home, I uploaded it. No captions about “guess who” or “my bestie lol.” No ambiguity. Just the truth.

Caption:

Nothing about this says just friends. Especially not dishing out these types of kisses either.

@PaigeBueckers

#booktoktrend #girlfriendsoftiktok #tallgfshortgf #hardlaunch

Paige’s comment came not even a full minute later.

@/Paige Bueckers:

I said what I said. And I’d say it again. louder. with tongue. 🧏‍♀️💋😈

The likes blew up. Comments exploded. People were freaking out.

• “THE WAY Y/N FOLDED LMFAOOOO IKEA CHAIR ENERGY 🪑😮‍💨”

• “if someone ever said ‘what do you wanna do, mama’ i’d die.”

• “this was not a soft launch. this was a full Broadway debut.”

• “Paige said ✨look at me✨ and we ALL looked.”

• “BookTok ain’t never seen it done so real.”

• “I need this kind of dominance in my life immediately.”

Fran, my childhood(and current) best friend texted within five minutes: “EXCUSE ME?!?! YOU AND PAIGE?!?!?!? I’M CALLING YOU.”

I put my phone face down.

“Too much?” I asked, settling into Paige’s side on the couch.

Her arm slipped around me. “Nah. Just enough.”

We watched the likes climb. The comments multiply. The secret we’d been keeping finally out in the open, loud and proud.

And true to her word, the next time we went out? Paige didn’t just hold my hand.

She kissed me—gently, sweetly—right on the sidewalk. Right in front of everyone.

And not a single person thought we were just best friends again.

Not after that.

Not ever.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[wileys-russo]

party 4 u II a.putellas

idk what this is other than being fueled by a charli xcx lover with a tiktok fyp full of those 'how it feels to hear party 4 u' edits party 4 u II a.putellas

you always started the morning with the same little set of rituals, the war torn practices you'd perfected over years of self indulgent behaviors that left you waking up with a pounding headache and a mouth as dry as the sahara.

the same step by step process that you sought out to heal you of your demons, the little devils which sat on your shoulder of an evening jeering and snarling at you, picking at every emotional scab they could peel back, words like lemon juice spat on an open wound.

that was how you'd find yourself with phone in hand and sending out a barrage of eager messages, already pouring yourself a stiff drink and settling against the headboard of your bed, your little friends now quieter though their sneering still rang in your ears as you waited for someone to respond they were free.

then once you had even a slight sniff of a plan you'd get begin to get ready, necking down at least another three drinks in the process, your head now silent and buzzing like it was filled with bees, ears stuffed with cotton and a warmth spreading through your stomach that felt invitingly pleasant.

your nights were filled with dancing until your feet might fall off and drinking until you wondered if your liver might follow suit.

bumping into strangers and friends alike though none who really knew the real you or whose faces you might ever see outside of a bar or a nightclub.

whom you'd never share a genuine conversation or a sincere thought with, all relationships you suffocated yourself with containing the same surface level connection where they merely existed to fulfill your need for acceptance, attention and adoration.

but all that had changed the night you met her.

when you'd met alexia you'd hardly been in a sober state of body or mind, hunched over the sink crying your eyes out over your latest situationship who'd left you for something newer and shinier, a pattern you should have been used to considering the type of girls you pulled into bed with you of an evening.

but you never learned, why would you?

not when you could keep repeating the same patterns that left you miserable which went hand in hand with the self destructive habits that lead you craving those short fast connections and the touch of a warm body pressed against your own in the first place.

you'd had far too much to drink with far too little in your stomach to process it, mind spinning from a profound lack of hydration despite how many kamikaze shots you'd downed, and a headache right behind your eyes just starting to set in.

when you'd felt the hand on your back your head shot up instantly, almost pathetically hoping it would be your ex girlfriend up for one more night of fun before she dissipated back into the abyss of the party scene in barcelona.

but instead you were greeted by a new face, kind brown eyes with bore into yours and left you feeling completely stripped bare even if you were very much still fully clothed.

her eyebrows curved downward with concern and there were little dimples either side of her mouth where pale pink lips pursed into a thin line, a frown not filled with disappointment but something else, something softer.

but ultimately, with one small look and a simple touch this stranger had you feeling more vulnerable than when you'd been crying your eyes out in a dimply lit restroom, and you found yourself dabbing at your eyes as if that would make your makeup look any less smeared.

"¿Estás bien?"

little did you know, after that one easy question you'd be the furthest thing from okay you'd been in years.

at first you worried she'd grow bored of you but your usual attempts to fling money or gifts at the problem fell flat, and though the rejection hurt you could see why she'd said no to your less than subtle advances.

you weren't okay, and the connection and acceptance and love you craved came from a place of isolation, and a lack of self acceptance and doubt, from a childhood spent raised by anyone but the woman who gave birth to you or the stranger you'd never known who helped it happen.

you had slips ups, weeks where you'd disappear off the radar and fall back into the welcoming embrace of blocking your feelings with uppers and downers alike, anything to get rid of the reality of being left alone with your thoughts and forced to process them.

you'd never liked feelings despite how much you craved to pull them from others, how many beds you'd woken up in over the years and nameless faces you'd left behind that morning.

still despite all of that, and still to this day you didn't know quite why or how, alexia remained a constant in your life.

picking you up when you were down, yelling at you when you needed a dose of reality and praising when you finally took a step toward your fears instead of running away.

she was the best friend you ever had, maybe even one of the only ones who'd actually cared for more than just your last name and the material and financial assets which came from it, not to say she couldn't pull a pretty penny for herself with her status.

you knew nothing about football aside from that whenever barcelona played, men or women, you'd stumble into any bar along the strip and the game would be broadcast on every tv it could be.

but once you met alexia you learned everything there was to know, throwing your addictive tendencies into studying the rules, the leagues, the competitions, wanting to support her even half as much as she'd supported you.

you showed up to games, met her family, friends, were pulled into the inner circle and for the first time in years finally felt you had a place in life, something to wake up and look forward to of a match day, belong to a community.

you'd long harbored your true feelings for alexia since her initial rejection, recognizing that if you let them get too close to the surface both of you would end up hurt, and the last thing you would ever want to do is push her away or give her a reason to go.

so you lied to yourself, gaslit your own mind that the emotions weren't there, pushed them down and down and focused on other things, you'd almost convinced yourself they were gone.

it had been a few years now and you were yet to realise that they were anything but, that just because you no longer thought about what it might feel like to kiss her or tortured yourself with the endless wonderings of what might be if you just asked her again, they were still there.

you were finally happy, finally okay, finally had genuine friends and hobbies and ways to fill your time that brought sincere fulfillment, finally had the life you'd wanted since you were a child playing alone and talking to imaginary friends.

but there was always something missing, a type of love that none of that brought you that you knew you wanted but didn't have the first clue how to unlock the box it seemed to be stuck and held away from you in.

always something missing, until the night of alexia's thirtieth birthday.

you'd worked alongside her sister and her friends to organise alexia a surprise party, the ridiculously humble captain insisting she didn't want a fuss, didn't want a big party, was happy just to go out to dinner to a nice restaurant, allow one round of singing her happy birthday and call it a night.

though instead the restaurant she'd wanted to dine at was booked out for a private event, all of her closest loved ones gathered and laid in wait for her to walk through and yell out with a cheer.

but when they did, when you were squished inbetween her uncle and her cousin, the last thing you expected was for her ex to be beside her, and for her lips to press against alexias as suddenly it felt like the air was being sucked dry from your lungs.

you hadn't even known they were still in touch though you'd hardly had anything to do with the guest list which alba had full control over.

it was like time stood still as alexia was enveloped in a cocoon of her innermost circle, pushed from hug to hug, reminded she was another year older again and again, toothy cheshire grin plastered ear to ear.

but all you could feel was the uppercut to your stomach that left you winded from seeing her kiss someone else, someone that wasn't you, and all of those feelings you'd been in pure denial of and refused to process, came screaming and hurtling to the surface.

you didn't even flinch as the canons went off and the gold and silver confetti came raining down, feet glued to the floor and those pesky little devils slowly climbing up onto your shoulders again from where you'd flicked them off long long ago.

but before they could whisper anything, confirm the insecurities which were already sounding in your ears, you shook them off and hurried for the door, missing the brown eyes which flickered around the room to find you, and only you.

finally able to exhale as you burst through the double doors and were smacked in the face by the cool evening air, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and head ringing from the cheers in the large room which had shrunk to feel like the smallest of cubes.

you'd never been claustrophobic but you suddenly had a whole new respect for the feeling of everything closing in, desperate to get as far away from this hidden humiliation as you could, maybe even send your therapist a text to see if she could bump your appointment up any earlier.

then you felt it, the hand on your back, almost dropping your phone as you turned and without meaning to pushed her away from you, not missing the hurt and confusion which flashed across her face.

but before you let her speak you took off, heels clacking against the pavement as you sought to put as much distance between the two of you as you could, pretending you couldn't hear her calling after you.

though of course the professional athlete wasn't one who'd be ran away from, another touch now this time clamping around your wrist like a vice, causing you to spin around and almost drop your phone yet again.

she caught it effortlessly because of course she did, though when you reached for it back you exhaled when she held it out of reach and gave you a look that had your cheeks burning up again and wishing the ground might swallow you up.

"alexia-" "no. no por favor, just listen."

it was rare to hear her beg and yet the hints of desperation to her tone had you pausing, walls still up in full defense but you offered a curt nod, the excuse you'd been about to vomit out about not feeling well and heading home not fooling her even before you said it.

"i did not know jenni would be there. i had not asked her to dinner but clearly she was late to that, and i saw her outside and she said-" "alexia really you do not need to -" "no. listen! por favor, i need you to hear me."

at that you once more fell silent, another small nod and she was taking a deep breath before starting again, taking you by surprise again as she took your hands in hers, rings cold against your own fingers which were for once bare.

"jenni is a friend, nothing more. i do not have those feelings for her, there is someone else that i have always-" at that you tried to pull your hands away but she held on tighter.

"alexia no really you-"

this time you were silenced once more though this time it wasn't with a curt look or a pleading word, this time it was pillow soft lips pressing against yours and hands which were once holding yours moving to find home against your hips, drawing you impossibly close.

when finally she pulled away you were left stunned, head reeling and a moment of regret flashing across her face before her features hardened and her hands moved again to gently cup your cheeks.

"you. amor it has always been you."

[norrisainz33]

amore || cl16

☆ summary: you found the man of your dreams thanks to a good friend of yours over one beautiful summer

☆ pairing: charles leclerc x actress!italian!reader

☆ fc & warnings: none & poorly translated italian

☆ requested: yes 🤍 thank you for requesting xxoo

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has made a post 📍italy

liked by zendaya, tatemcrae, iamrebeccad, harrisdickinson, mattrempe, charlesleclerc and 1,736,294 others

ynuser: overjoyed to be home after filming in london for the last few months 🤍🍝

felicissimo di essere tornato a casa dopo aver girato a London negli ultimi mesi 🤍🍝

view all comments

user1: MAMA MIA

scuderiaferrari: principessa 😍 please join us in monza 😔

ynuser: i could be persuaded 🤭

user16: ferrari really out here begging her to show up

user5: that’s their italian princess ofc they’re begging for her attendance

user16: now imagine if the prince of monaco and the princess of italy got together im just riffin here

user5: no you’re on to something user16 he’s even hiding in the likes

user32: yall are never gonna stop shipping those 2 huh?

user16: user32 honestly no

harrisdickinson: no come back i miss you

ynuser: why don’t you come HERE

user2: you’re so beautiful

mattrempe: 😍😍 [liked by ynuser]

user22: wtf are you doing here

user3: rest up pretty girl

iamrebeccad: absolutely stunning

ynuser: oh please that’s you 😍

user16: 1 step closer to charles

user4: i can’t wait for the new season of your show!

charlesleclerc has made a post 📍italy

liked by scuderiaferrari, carlossainz55, pierregasly, apmmonaco, ynuser, maxverstappen1, and 982,124 others

charlesleclerc: glad to be catching up on some much needed rest with friends both new and old this summer break ☀️

view all comments

user16: NEW friends?! could it be ynuser?!

user5: user16 please tell me that you saw he was in the likes of that one viral tiktok edit of him and y/n

user16: WAHHH NO?! running to go find it

user5: he messy for that one

scuderiaferrari: enjoy charles!

charlesleclerc: grazie mille

user2: woof woof woof

maxverstappen1: why was i not invited?

charlesleclerc: you literally were?

user12: oh to relax in italy with charles leclerc

arthur_leclerc: cool bro

charlesleclerc: thanks bro

user6: your aesthetic is everything

ynuser has posted to their story

view all story replies

user5: i’d give my left leg to be spending my summer like this

user16: don’t think i didn’t notice the f1 gossip post that showed a blurry photo of charles in a veryyyyyy similar location

iamrebeccad: i’ve been dying to know how things went on that little blind date i set you up on ❤️‍🔥

ynuser: well…. i have to admit that maybe you were on to something with making me go to dinner with charles

iamrebeccad: YES! you two are perfect for each other i’m so serious

ynuser: 🤨 you just want me to come hang out with you at the races

iamrebeccad: well yes….. but i am also on the yncharles train

ynuser: at least you’re honest amore mio

judebellingham: 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

user6: adding that book to my goodreads rn

charlesleclerc: i had a wonderful time today! thanks for showing me around portofino

ynuser: it was my pleasure charles! i really enjoyed getting to know you a bit more 🥺

charlesleclerc: likewise! i’m already looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow

ynuser: oh!! you’re going to dinner with rebecca and carlos and crew as well?

charlesleclerc: yes! any chance you want to grab a drink with me beforehand?

ynuser: as long as said drink is an espresso

charlesleclerc: you can have whatever it is your heart desires

ynuser: is that so?

charlesleclerc: oui bien sûr [yes of course]

ynuser: you may come to regret that

charlesleclerc: i doubt it

scuderiaferrari: willing to accept our invitation yet?

ynuser: can you get me some lewis merch?

scuderiaferrari: absolutely

ynuser: then i’ll see you there 😉

user12: pls reject me so i can move on

ynuser made a post

liked by yourbff, jackhughes, bellahadid, carlossainz55, charlesleclerc, scuderiaferrari, and 1,097,395 others

ynuser: a beautiful day at home with my favorite girl yourbff🍷☀️

una bella giornata a casa con la mia ragazza preferita yourbff 🍷☀️

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user2: body is tea

bellahadid: omg my baby girl is wearing my bikini line 🥺

ynuser: ofc i am gorgeous girl

user3: i wanna go to there

charlesleclerc: looking radiant 🌞

ynuser: thank you 🥹

user16: i’m trying so hard not to freak out rn

user5: omg user16 this is their first public interaction

user16: baby steps

user81: i told my mom about us

user4: 🫷😔🫸 everyone step aside! i got this !

yourbff: grazie for having me darling

ynuser: there’s no one else i’d rather have visit 😍

iamrebeccad: you sure about that?

user16: REBE WHAT DOES THIS MEAN LET ME INNNNNN

ynuser has posted to their story

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user16: i just screamed out loud. that’s charles leclerc on YOUR story

yourbff: GIRL THIS AINT YOUR PIRVATE STORY DELETE

ynuser: whelp….. this is awkward…. it’s a bit too late now it’s all over the internet

yourbff: at least this story is tame (unlike that one private story from last week where you posted him shirtless on the beach eating grapes like some roman god)

ynuser: i would have been mortified

user13: oh what do we have here……….

iamrebeccad: and to think that you could’ve been watching in person

ynuser: we only just started seeing each other i am attempting to take things a little slower than that tho i’ve just blown up our spot

iamrebeccad: i completely get it y/n/n! but just know he’s completely smitten. he’s been talking about you nonstop and every time your name pops up on his phone he gets the biggest smile on his face

ynuser: omg stop 😭😭😭

iamrebeccad: it’s true! i’ve never seen this man so head over heels before

user24: the collective head loss f1twt abt to have over this oh boy

charlesleclerc: wow… i’m honored to have made it to the public story!

ynuser: i’m sorry it was meant to be on the private one but i messed up 😅

charlesleclerc: i mean… i can’t say that i mind! i like the world knowing you’re supporting me and me only 🤷🏻‍♂️

ynuser: i’m actually supporting lewis

charlesleclerc: valid but that hurts

f1gossip: making our job pretty easy here y/n

[this post has been deleted]

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, user8 and 12,456 others

f1gossip: looks like italian actress y/n y/l/n and f1 star charles leclerc are making monaco their playground ahead of monza this weekend. from a cozy ride in a charles’ iconic ferrari to a classic ‘hide from the cameras’ moment—seems like these two might be more than just friends?

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user1: stop the second slide is so carrie bradshaw of her

user3: monaco seems worse than la. can these people ever leave their house without being photographed?

user8: truly seems like no

user22: free our girl from this man

user16: i don’t claim this energy

user2: not y/n pulling the don’t look at me move while literally stepping out of a multi million-dollar car that literally says 16 on it

user16: best news i’ve seen all day

user4: literally no way they’re not together. look at the way they’re looking at each other.. i know what yall are

user12: plot twist! they’re actually filming for a new movie

user4: me when i spread misinformation

ynuser has posted to their story

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user5: NO WAY YOURE AT THE RACE RN

user12: you at monza?? this is all the confirmation we needed tbh

iamrebeccad: yayyyy you’re here!!!!! can’t wait to see you pretty girl

ynuser: yes!!!! running to find you as we speak. i miss my rebe

user7: just casually dropping this is insane work. i need like 5 business days to be able to recover from the implications of this. y/ncharles is canon

charlesleclerc: oh you look stunning in the ferrari garage

ynuser: you think so? if that’s the case then maybe i need to hang out here more

charlesleclerc: i’d love that. in fact, i’d love to see you here on every race day. i have a good feeling that you’re going to bring me some luck 😉

ynuser: how about this… if you win - i’ll come to every race for the rest of the season

charlesleclerc: deal. i’ll see you on that podium mon ange

user16: brb screaming into the void rn

scuderiaferrari: il giorno migliore di sempre [best day ever]

ynuser: grazie per avermi ospitato ❤️ [thank you for having me]

scuderiaferrari: sei sempre il benvenuto ❤️‍🔥 [you are always welcome]

user17: i used to pray for soft launches like this

jackhughes: we lost a good one 😔✊🏻

ynuser: i folded what can i say

jackhughes: i think i hear quinn crying himself to sleep

user25: nah if you postin from monza it’s gotta be a official that you’re with that car guy

ynuser has posted to their story

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user16: ain’t no way for me to be normal about this one fr

yourbff: this might be the sickest picture i’ve ever seen

ynuser: right?!?!? main character energy

user14: you ain’t wrong girl

scuderiaferrari: incredible! thanks for joining us this weekend y/n xxoo

ynuser: thank you for having me admin!! appreciate all of your support

iamrebeccad: this is truly a photo fit for the history books

ynuser: getting it framed as we speak

user2: if anyone knows aura it’s YOU but ig this man is ok

charlesleclerc: 😍😍😍 i couldn’t be more glad that you were able to be here with me

ynuser: it was an incredible experience. i’m so thankful to have been here ❤️

charlesleclerc: being on that podium and seeing you in the crowd was everything i could have ever dreamed of

ynuser: charles 😭

charlesleclerc: it’s true! this might be the adrenaline talking but i think im in love with you

ynuser: charlie!!!!!! the feeling is incredibly mutual

charlesleclerc: thank god!

charlesleclerc: oh and don’t think i forgot about the deal we made! see you at every race from here on out 😏

user8: the way you’re hyping him up... we see you y/n/n 😉

charlesleclerc has made a post

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charlesleclerc: p1 in monza! no greater feeling than getting the win here in front of the home crowd. to the tifosi - thank you for the endless support and for always believing me (oh and for y/n - she's pretty great)

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user11: p1!!! thats my goat!!!!

lewishamilton: strong drive 💪🏻

charlesleclerc: thanks lewis!!

user16: i am SO UP RIGHT NOW!!! CHARLES WIN AND Y/N FEATURE IN THE POST!!!!!!!!!

carlossainz55: great job mate

charlesleclerc: thanks man! miss you

user18: perhaps the best day of my life

user19: the tifosi will always love you charles! unless of course you hurt our girl then we wont be so nice

ynuser: congratulazioni a te charles [congratulations to you charles]

charlesleclerc: grazie bellissima [thank you gorgeous]

user42: first you win in monza and now you reveal ur off the market? charles I am not okay.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: likes and reblogs appreciated!! thanks for reading 🤍

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[strawberry-nugget]

Based on the ‘somebody point me to the best ass eater’ tiktok trend

Tags // Warnings: MDNI, Suggestive, Crack

Characters are 20+

It’s Wednesday afternoon, that dooming hour after a 10 hour long patrol that included everything a hero should do in the span of a week. It has left you and Katsuki beaten and bruised, tired, and grimy all over your hero costumes and he has —rightfully so— spent the fifteen minute drive from his agency to your favourite restaurant whining because he will have to have his car detailed again.

Nonetheless, you’ve been doom scrolling on Tiktok from the second he stepped out of the car to get you the food he promised you; all you can eat sushi, boba tea for the drive back home and maybe a sweet treat that you hope and pray is strawberry mochi.

You're scrolling through endless edits, ‘get ready with me’s, pets, babies and yet the only thing that gets your attention is that new silly couple trend.

“Somebody point me to the best ass eater” the song chants and numerous girls have recreated the trend with their boyfriends and it’s just so silly, so stupid, so so funny that you wanna do it too.

You look around the parking lot, scanning to see if there’s any people around but it’s for sure empty, given the fact that it’s too early and you click on the sound on one of the TikToks and decide to set your phone on Katsuki’s phone holder on the dashboard.

And right on cue -perfect fucking timing- there goes your hero, with two big fat paper bags filled with food on one hand and two boba teas on the other. You can’t help but smile an evil grin as he sprint marches toward the car.

He opens the door, practically collapses in the seat, and you scrunch your eyes as you smile at him when he hands you your tea before smooching your lips. “Boba for my girl” he smiles against your lips and then, kisses you again.

“Katsuki gimme your phone baby” you ask and reach your open palm at him. 

“Sure—“ he hands you his phone, presses his lips into a thin awkward smile as you go to open Spotify. Then his eyes fall finally on your phone on the dashboard.

“wait, the fuck is your camera open?”

“Shhhh I wanna film something”

He sighs, deeply, almost comically, rubbing his face with his palm.

“Can’t we go home first, i'm so tired” he whines, his voice cracking like you asked him to do another ten hour long patrol, but you just giggle, sipping on your tea before setting it down.

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” you grin, unlocking his phone and queuing up your shared playlist—because ambiance matters, obviously.

Katsuki groans again, louder this time, and slouches into the seat like he’s trying to merge with it. “If it’s another cutesy dance thing, I’m crashin’ this car into the nearest pole.”

“You just got this car”

“And i'm damn serious” 

“You say that every time, but then you eat up the comments when they say you look hot,” you quip, tapping through TikTok with laser focus. “It’s not a dance. It’s just a sound. A trend. Just trust me.”

“No,” he says immediately.

You ignore him and cue up the sound, and before he can protest again, your phone blasts from the dashboard: “Somebody point me to the best ass eater—”

Katsuki freezes like someone’s just shot him with a tranquilizer dart. One eye twitches, while he's giving you the nastiest side eye.

“What the fuck—” he starts, but you’re already cackling, doubled over in your seat, wheezing into the straw of your boba like it’s life support.

“You’re deranged,” he mutters, ears red, one hand suddenly gripping the steering wheel like he’s going to need it for emotional support. He bumps his forehead against it once, twice, then groans like he’s aging in dog years.

You pause the video and open a new draft under the sound, already giggling as you press record.

“Please, let’s go again. At least try to pretend you’re eating my ass.”

There’s not even a beat of hesitation—even if the phone is still recording, Katsuki reaches, lunges over your seat, full chest-over-console, arms reaching like a man possessed and makes it fly flat onto the back seat and grabs both of your hips with his palms to shimmy you towards him. He leans, leans fucking over your thighs with his mouth all open like a horn dog.

He’s fully tilted, upper body hunched over your thighs like you’re the dinner you’re supposed to be having at home. His mouth is still open, stupid and dramatic, like some depraved cartoon wolf seeing red.

“KATSUKI WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” You’re shrieking now, half laughing, half horrified by how fast of a turn this took.

“WHAT!?” He yells, sounding genuinely offended.

You’re laughing so hard, you're wiping actual tears from your eyes, when Katsuki, very slowly, very cautiously, says

“You’re askin’ me to eat your ass here.”

You choke.

Literally choke. You’re coughing into your boba straw. Katsuki’s immediately panicked, reaching across the console to slap your back softly and manspreads into the driver’s seat

“No! Katsuki—no! That’s not—” You’re laughing and wheezing at the same time, eyes wild, mouth burst open so wide that your jaw could just drop to the floor “That’s not what it is! It’s just a stupid TikTok sound!”

“But the sound said—” He furrows his brow like he’s solving math “It said—somebody point me to the best ass eater. You told me to pretend I'm eating your ass. How else am I supposed to do it then?”

You start giggling again and grab his bicep. “Yes, but it’s not literal! That’s just the trend! You point at your boyfriend when the sound plays and look really smug, maybe pretend you’re eating something out of my hand. It’s supposed to be funny!”

He blinks, pouts, fierce vermillion eyes stare deeply into your soul, like you’ve offended him once again.

“So… you’re not asking me to eat your ass.”

“NO, KATSUKI.”

“Shame” he says, lips pursing to the side of his face as he throws his hands in the air in surrender. Smirking. Eyes wide in condensation.

“KATSUKI- I wouldn’t ask you to do that in broad daylight, at a parking lot” You’re breathless from laughing, stomach sore and tears streaking your already grimy cheeks as you swat at his arm. “And wait, hold up—What do you mean ‘shame’?”

Katsuki just shrugs, forges a motherfucking stank face and says “Woulda done it.”

You nearly spit out your drink. “IN THE MIDDLE OF A PARKING LOT?”

He raises an eyebrow and deadpans, “You were the one who pulled out the camera and told me to pretend.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” You’re halfway between scolding and wheezing, already imagining the absolute clownery that’s going to flood your comments once people realize what just happened if you were to post that video.

He leans back against the driver’s seat with a long, satisfied exhale, smug little smirk curling at the corner of his mouth like he just won a fight no one else was in.

“I’m just sayin’. If you wanna do stupid internet trends, don’t blame me when I commit to the bit.”

“KATSUKI”

“Ahhhh” he whines, voice cracking again, mocking “Katsuki this, Katsuki that, just get on all fours and let me get to work”

“Shut up bro, what the hell”

He raises his brow at that, latching his forehead to yours. Had it been any other time you’d gulp, but he cracks a laugh, lets you know it’s not that serious… yet.

“Call me bro one more time” His lips twitch. “See what happens.”

Katsuki bites his lower lip, his nose bumps into yours. You pretend to shove him away, scrunching your face in fake disgust, but he pulls you back in, huge biceps trapping you in between his arms as he places ugly sounding kisses to the top of your head, your cheeks, your face. Anywhere he can land them, seriously.

“Im all dirty and musty from patrol you freak” 

“Mmmmmmm” he smiles deviously, licking his lips.

You slap your palm over his mouth before he can say whatever ungodly thing he was about to follow that noise with.

“You need to be stopped.” You’re fully hot in the face now, not from any sort of flustered romantic nonsense—no, from the secondhand humiliation of knowing that your camera was absolutely still recording when he started making mating sounds over you telling him you’re absolutely musty after patrol.

Then again, Katsuki licks your palm.

“OH MY GOD—EW” You rip your hand away and flail, smacking the dashboard. “You’re disgusting. Depraved. Unwell.”

“‘S what you signed up for,” he says proudly, smug as hell and sipping on his tea like he didn’t just try to go full National Geographic in the front seat of his car. In front of a recording camera too.

“You’re not even denying it anymore.”

He shrugs. “I’m a man of the people. They want ass eater representation.”

“The people?! You didn’t even know about this trend a second ago, what people!?”

“My fans,” he says, nodding solemnly.

“Your fans? Katsuki, you have one fan and she’s sitting right here rethinking her entire life.”

He hums again, but this time it’s smug and low, and he wiggles his brows in a way that tells you he’s about to say something that will absolutely get him banned from the bed for tonight.

“So you are my fan…” he laughs, falling back on his seat, pulling that silly face he thinks is the sexiest thing on the planet—newsflash, it is. He looks at you, up and down, licking and biting his lips “Sorry sweetie, I don't sleep with groupies.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “I’m going to make you sleep on the couch.”

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

[paucubarsisimp]

a man

pairings: pablo gavi x reader,, pedri x reader ferran torres x reader, pau cubarsi x reader, hector fort x reader, alejandro balde x reader, lamine yamal x reader, marc bernal x reader

summary: in which you try the "a man" trend with your boyfriend

warnings: none!

୨ৎ pablo gavi

you had the phone set up, the camera pointed at both of you, ready to attempt the latest trend. you bounced excitedly on your feet. “okay, guapo, i'm gonna lift you onto my shoulder. it’ll be fine.”

pablo raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “you’re gonna lift me? are you sure about that?”

“yes,” you said confidently. “i’ve got this. no big deal.”

you squatted down in front of him, placing your hands on his waist. you tried to position yourself like you’d seen in the videos. you gave it a go, lifting him slightly, but he barely budged, and you had to put him down quickly before your arms gave out.

“uh, yeah, this isn’t working,” you laughed awkwardly.

pablo leaned back, crossing his arms, and smirked. “i told you, cariño, it’s not as easy as it looks.”

you shot him a playful glare. “oh, shut up, i'm gonna get you on my shoulder, i swear.”

“you’ve got about as much chance as i do with cooking dinner,” he teased.

you narrowed your eyes, determined to prove him wrong. “you’re gonna eat those words.”

this time, you braced yourself and tried again, crouching down, gripping his legs. you heaved, but nope—nothing. you couldn’t even get him to budge an inch.

“seriously?” you groaned. “you're not that heavy!”

pablo snickered, taking a step toward you and gently pushing your hands off of him. “let me show you how it’s done.”

you rolled your eyes. “oh, so now you think you’re the expert?”

“watch and learn,” he said, smirking, and before you could even protest, he wrapped one arm around your back and the other around your legs. with zero effort, he lifted you up onto his shoulder as if you weighed nothing at all.

you were in complete shock, legs draped comfortably over his chest, looking down at him wide-eyed. “wait, what? you just—”

“told you,” he said smugly, his grip on you steady. “easy.”

you laughed, both hands gripping his shoulder to steady yourself. “okay, fine. you win. i can’t lift you.”

“i’m not surprised,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “you’re way too cute to be lifting people.”

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. “you’re impossible.”

“and you,” he grinned, “are staying up here until you admit i’m always right.”

you couldn’t help but laugh again, swinging your legs slightly. “alright, alright. you’re always right.”

“i know,” he said, now walking slowly in a circle with you on his shoulder, his voice a little softer. “you’re lucky i’m strong.”

“i’m lucky to have you,” you murmured, leaning down and brushing your hand through his hair.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ .✦

୨ৎ pedri

you were lying sideways on the couch, editing a tiktok draft, when pedri leaned over the back of it and poked your cheek with a tortilla chip.

“you’ve been staring at that for ten minutes.”

“i’m planning a video,” you said around a laugh. “it’s a trend. couples are doing it.”

he raised an eyebrow. “is it another one where i have to wear a stupid filter or something?”

“no,” you smirked. “this time, you have to lift me onto your shoulder.”

his face scrunched. “like… throw you?”

“no! not like pablo and his rugby tackles,” you teased. “like gently sit me up there. like i’m a parrot. or a trophy.”

he blinked. “a trophy?”

you shrugged. “you love showing me off, don’t lie.”

he tried to fight the smile creeping onto his face. “yeah, but usually not on my shoulder.”

you grinned, already pulling him up by the wrist. “c’mon. camera’s ready. just try it.”

he sighed dramatically, but followed you to the middle of the living room, brushing chip crumbs off his shirt.

“okay,” he said, standing in front of you, eyes wide like this was some high-stakes mission. “don’t kick me in the head.”

“i make no promises.”

you both burst into giggles, and then he crouched slightly, arms around your waist. “okay. ready… uno… dos…”

“tres!” you laughed as he straightened up and somehow, surprisingly smoothly, got you balanced on his shoulder.

“whoa—wait—i did it?” he blinked up at you, both hands gripping your thighs.

“you did it!” you said, arms out like you were flying.

“yo, i’m actually so strong,” he muttered, doing a slow little spin. “look at this. gym who?”

“don’t drop me, superstar.”

he laughed. “nah. you’re staying up here forever now. like a weird little shoulder bag.”

“you’re my weird little shoulder bag,” you corrected.

he smirked, then looked at the camera, still recording.

“look at her,” he said to no one. “sitting on me like she pays rent.”

“i do pay rent.”

he fake-gasped. “with what? vibes?”

you both lost it after that, laughing so hard he had to set you down gently before he collapsed on the couch, dragging you with him.

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୨ৎ ferran torres

it was one of those lazy post-training afternoons where you and ferran were sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through tiktok together. you’d stumbled across the latest viral challenge—the shoulder lift challenge—and of course, ferran was immediately intrigued.

he glanced at you with that cocky smile, the one that usually made you roll your eyes because you knew he was about to say something bold.

“watch this. i could lift you no problem. easy,” he said, chuckling as he watched a couple on screen wobble and almost fall.

you raised an eyebrow, not convinced. “you think you can pull this off? you’ll probably break me in half with how strong you are.”

ferran let out a short laugh, his muscles rippling under his t-shirt as he stretched. “trust me, cariño, i’ve got it covered. i’m built for this kind of thing.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his confidence. “okay, mr. strongman. show me then.”

he stood up, rolling his shoulders back as if he were preparing to carry a boulder. the sight of him, all muscle and determination, made you wonder if you’d be able to keep your balance once you were on his shoulders.

you stepped up to him, crossing your arms. “alright, but if i fall, i swear i’ll make you buy me dinner for a week.”

“i’m not worried,” he smirked. “you can trust me.”

before you could back out, ferran crouched down, placing his hands on your thighs, then effortlessly lifted you onto his shoulders. the ease with which he did it was unreal. you were now sitting on top of him like a throne, and for a second, you actually felt like a queen.

“see? easy,” he said, his voice full of playful arrogance. “like i said, i was made for this.”

you adjusted your position, trying to find your balance. the view from up here was ridiculous, you could practically see the entire apartment. “okay, okay, i admit it. you’re impressively strong,” you said, though you were secretly feeling a bit wobbly.

“of course,” ferran grinned, clearly basking in his success. “i’ve got muscles for a reason.”

he then, for reasons unknown to you, decided to take it up a notch and started spinning you around in slow circles. you squealed in surprise, clutching onto him as the room around you blurred.

“ferran! what are you—”

but before you could finish, he wobbled a little—just a little—and suddenly you were both falling backward onto the couch with a dramatic thud.

ferran let out a surprised grunt, but he couldn’t help but laugh once you both landed in a tangled mess, your legs awkwardly draped over him.

“well, that was… not how i imagined it,” ferran said, still grinning ear to ear, his breath coming out in little chuckles. “but you can’t deny that i’ve got the muscles to pull this off.”

you shook your head, laughing. “you almost killed me, ferran. i’m never trusting you with a lift again. not even for a photo op.”

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in close. “next time, i’ll nail it. promise. but for now… how about that dinner you wanted?”

you rolled your eyes, still smiling. “fine, but i get to choose the food.”

“deal,” he said, giving you a quick peck on the forehead. “but just so you know, i’ll be ready for round two of the lift challenge when you are.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ .✦

୨ৎ pau cubarsi

it was one of those rare, lazy days when pau had a break from his training schedule, and you were both lounging around his apartment, catching up on random videos on tiktok. as you were scrolling, a familiar viral trend popped up—the shoulder lift challenge.

pau, of course, was immediately intrigued. his eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint you’d grown to love. “you know... i could totally do this. look at those couples struggling; i bet i’d nail it,” he said, his voice full of playful confidence.

you raised an eyebrow, amused by his over-the-top bravado. “oh really? you think you can lift me like that?”

pau shrugged, flexing his muscles dramatically. “of course! i’ve got the strength of a lion, the balance of a ballerina, and the grace of… well, me.”

you giggled. “okay, ‘mr. graceful,’ let’s see what you’ve got then.”

with a grin, pau stood up, his broad shoulders rolling in a confident stretch. he held out his hands to you. “climb aboard. i’ve got this.”

you stepped toward him, your heart doing a little flip as you placed your hands in his strong grasp. you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy—pau’s strength was something else. you climbed onto his shoulders, and before you knew it, you were sitting comfortably up high, your legs wrapped gently around his neck.

“see? easy,” pau said, looking up at you with that proud, charming smile of his. his muscles flexed under you as he stood tall, completely steady.

you grinned, balancing yourself. “okay, okay, i admit it. you’re strong. very strong.”

pau winked at you. “told you. nothing to it. i’ve got this lift thing mastered.”

with an exaggerated flourish, pau started spinning you slowly, his grip steady. you squealed, holding on tight as the world around you spun. he laughed at your giggles, clearly enjoying the moment.

“alright, alright, i think you’ve earned the title of ‘best lifter,’” you said, laughing, dizzy from the spin.

pau smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “i’ll take that crown. now, let’s see if i can do one thing better…”

you blinked, puzzled. “what’s that?”

without warning, pau carefully lowered you back down to the couch, a twinkle in his eyes. he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you. “kisses. you owe me a lot of kisses for that performance.”

you raised an eyebrow, grinning. “oh really? i didn’t know i was paying in kisses now.”

pau nodded seriously, though the playful grin on his face told you otherwise. “yep. it’s the price for lifting you like that. a lot of kisses.”

without waiting for you to respond, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours softly. “that’s one.”

you smiled, a little laugh escaping your lips. “alright, i’ll pay up.”

you leaned in, planting soft, sweet kisses all over his face—his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, even his chin—until pau was smiling so wide he could hardly contain it.

“you’re gonna run out of places to kiss me at this rate,” pau teased, though the happiness in his eyes was undeniable.

you gave him one last, lingering kiss on the lips. “maybe… but i’m happy to keep trying.”

he pulled you in for a warm hug, squeezing you tight. “best lift of my life. and the best reward,” he said, his voice full of affection.

you laughed, snuggling closer to him. “you were pretty amazing up there, but don’t get too cocky now.”

“never,” pau grinned, kissing the top of your head. “i’ll just take my kisses and be happy with it.”

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୨ৎ hector fort

you and héctor had been relaxing all afternoon after his training session. the tv was on, but neither of you were really paying attention to it. you were scrolling through your phone when you came across a video of the shoulder lift challenge, a fun little trend you knew héctor would enjoy.

"hey," you said, tapping his shoulder, "check this out."

héctor looked over at your phone and saw the couples trying out the challenge. "oh, this looks fun. think you can handle it?" he asked, his cocky grin already in place.

you laughed, "me? you’re the one who’s built for this, not me."

he stood up and stretched, clearly excited to show off. "easy. piece of cake. get on my shoulders."

"you sure about that?" you raised an eyebrow, skeptical but also amused.

"trust me," he replied with a wink. "i’ve got this."

you stepped closer, allowing him to gently wrap his hands around your waist. with a smooth motion, he lifted you up and placed you comfortably on his shoulders. you immediately felt how strong and steady he was. it was like he was made for this.

"comfortable?" he asked, looking up at you with that smirk of his.

"yeah, this feels pretty solid," you said, laughing a little at how easy he made it look.

"see? i told you," he said, standing tall and steady. "no problem."

he spun around once, showing off how effortlessly he could handle you. you held on to his head for balance, laughing as he did it.

"not even breaking a sweat," you teased.

"i told you," he grinned, spinning you around a second time. "this is what i do."

he slowed down and stopped, looking up at you with that playful smirk. "so, what’s my reward for being so good at this?"

you pretended to think it over. "i guess… you’ve earned something."

"something? is that all i get?" he asked, feigning disappointment, though his smirk remained.

you giggled and leaned down, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "that’s one," you said.

he closed his eyes, savoring the kiss. "i think i deserve more than that for being such a good lifter."

you chuckled, "maybe, but only if you keep being this charming."

with that, héctor carefully lowered you back down to your feet, then pulled you into a quick hug. "oh, i’ll always be charming," he said. "and i’ll keep lifting you whenever you want."

you rolled your eyes with a smile, feeling his arms around you. "you’re impossible," you said, shaking your head.

"impossible to resist," héctor replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his grin still intact.

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୨ৎ alejandro balde

you and alejandro were having a quiet day in, just relaxing after his training session. the tv was on in the background, but you weren’t really paying attention to it. you were scrolling through your phone when you came across a video of the shoulder lift challenge.

“hey, princesa,” you called out to him, showing him your phone, “think you could do this?”

alejandro looked at the video, a playful smile spreading across his face. “me? i can definitely do this,” he said, standing up and stretching his arms. “easy.”

you raised an eyebrow. “oh really? you sure you’re up for it?”

he winked at you. “i’m always up for a challenge, princesa. just trust me.”

with that, alejandro moved toward you, his hands gently resting on your waist as he lifted you up onto his shoulders. you were surprised at how effortlessly he did it, like you weighed nothing at all.

"comfortable up there?" he asked with a grin, looking up at you. his voice was soft, but full of confidence.

"yeah," you said, holding on to his head for balance, "you’re way stronger than you look."

he chuckled, clearly enjoying the compliment. "i told you, princesa. i’ve got strength and charm. i can handle you up here no problem."

you laughed, feeling safe and secure as he stood tall. he began walking around the room casually, showing off how easily he was carrying you. “this is impressive,” you teased, “you look like you’re barely trying.”

“of course i’m not trying hard,” alejandro said, his smile never faltering, “i’m built for this.”

he spun around a little, just to make the moment more fun. you couldn’t help but laugh as he did, the world around you twirling for a second. “okay, okay, i get it. you’re strong.”

“told you, princesa,” he grinned, “i’m always strong for you.”

after a few more spins and laughs, alejandro stopped and stood still, looking up at you with a sweet smile. “now, for my reward.”

you rolled your eyes, pretending to think it over. “reward? for what?”

he tilted his head, acting all innocent. “for lifting you like this, of course.”

you smiled, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “there you go, my strong prince.”

alejandro closed his eyes for a moment, clearly enjoying the kiss. “that’s one,” he said, his voice full of satisfaction. “you’re gonna have to give me more for this amazing lift.”

you giggled and kissed him on the cheek again, then his nose, "that’s two.”

alejandro carefully lowered you back to the ground, but didn’t let you go right away. instead, he wrapped his arms around you in a warm hug, pulling you close. “now i feel like i deserve one more kiss, don’t you think?”

you shook your head, smiling at how sweet and playful he was. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

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୨ৎ lamine yamal

you and lamine were enjoying a quiet afternoon at his place. the tv was on, but neither of you were really paying attention. instead, you were scrolling through your phone when you found a funny video of the shoulder lift challenge. you couldn't help but laugh, and the idea sparked.

"hey, lamine," you said, showing him your phone. "think you could do this?"

lamine leaned over to look at the video and immediately grinned. "of course, princesa," he said, his confidence lighting up the room. "i’m strong enough to do this with my eyes closed."

you laughed. "we’ll see about that," you teased. "you sure about this?"

"trust me," he said, standing up and stretching a little, already getting into position. "this is going to be easy."

you climbed onto his shoulders, holding on to his head for balance. for a moment, everything felt steady, and you couldn’t help but smile at how strong he was. "wow, you're stronger than you look," you teased.

lamine’s grin grew even bigger. "told you," he said, taking a few confident steps forward. "i’ve got this. i’m basically a pro."

he took a step back, then another, but as he tried to turn around, his foot caught on the carpet. "whoa—" he gasped, losing his balance, and before you knew it, you both were tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs, laughing uncontrollably.

you landed softly on top of him with a loud thud, both of you sprawled out in a mess of laughter. "ow!" you giggled, but couldn’t stop laughing at how ridiculous it all was.

"i swear," lamine said, still laughing, "i didn’t mean for that to happen!"

you propped yourself up on his chest, looking down at him with a teasing grin. "i think you owe me another try after this."

just then, the sound of little feet running across the floor interrupted you. kenye, lamine’s two-year-old brother, rushed into the room with a look of genuine concern on his face.

"lamine!" kenye yelled, his little voice high-pitched with worry as he skidded to a stop, looking between the two of you. "what happened? you okay?"

you and lamine both burst out laughing at his worried expression. "it’s okay, kenye!" lamine said, holding his stomach from laughing too hard. "we're fine, just… uh, a little slip-up."

kenye, still looking concerned, walked over and patted both of you. "no hurt?" he asked, squinting at the two of you.

"no hurt," you said, still giggling. "we’re just fine, little man."

"good," kenye nodded, then, with his tiny hands on his hips, added, "you be careful, hermano!"

"yes, yes," lamine said between laughs, giving kenye a thumbs up. "i’ll be careful, i promise."

you couldn’t help but laugh even more at how serious kenye was about it. lamine, still laughing, looked up at you and grinned. "well, i guess i need more practice. but hey, at least you’re safe."

you grinned back at him, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "you’re lucky i like you, you know."

kenye, clearly satisfied with your reassurances, started tugging at lamine’s arm. "hermano play with me now!" he demanded, already forgetting all about the little "accident."

"okay, okay, let’s go, little man," lamine said, finally sitting up, pulling you with him as he got to his feet. "you win, kenye. let’s go play."

as they both walked off to the other room, you stayed behind for a second, watching them with a smile. lamine may have dropped you on the floor, but there was no denying how sweet he was, especially with how much he adored his little brother.

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୨ৎ marc bernal

you were hanging out at marc’s place on a quiet afternoon. The two of you had just finished watching a game, and now you were both sprawled on the couch, chatting and scrolling through your phones. As you were browsing, you found a video of a couple trying the shoulder lift challenge and couldn’t resist showing it to him.

“hey, marc,” you said, holding up your phone. “think you could pull this off?”

marc glanced at the video, then looked back at you with a teasing grin. “me? no doubt,” he said confidently, giving a small flex of his arm for emphasis.

you raised an eyebrow. “oh, really? you sure you can lift me without dropping me?”

“i’m strong, trust me,” he said with a smirk. “and i’m way better than whoever’s in this video.”

you laughed, playfully rolling your eyes. “okay, mr. confident, show me what you’ve got.”

marc stood up with a dramatic stretch, then turned to you with that mischievous look in his eyes. “come on, hop on. i’ll make it look easy.”

you climbed onto his shoulders, holding onto his head for balance. You were surprised at how stable and easy it felt, like he had this down to an art. He smiled up at you, clearly enjoying the moment.

“how’s it feel up there?” he asked, his voice calm, almost too casual as if he wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“not bad at all,” you said, grinning. “you really are stronger than you look.”

“told you,” he replied with a wink. “i got muscles for a reason.”

you laughed, leaning down slightly to give him a kiss on the cheek. “i think you’ve earned that.”

marc tilted his head, feigning a pout. “just one kiss? after all this strength?” he teased.

“one kiss for now,” you said, still holding onto his head as he casually walked around the room, making it look like lifting you was no big deal.

“well, i guess i can’t argue with that,” marc said, his tone playful as he kept walking with ease. “but i’ll need more rewards for all my effort.”

you chuckled. “we’ll see if you keep earning them,” you said, giving him a little squeeze.

marc paused for a second, raising an eyebrow. “oh, i will earn them,” he said, his voice full of confidence. He gave you another quick look, smiling as he spun around a little, just to show off his strength.

“okay, show-off,” you said, laughing, holding on tightly as he made a few more spins. “i didn’t realize i was dating a superhero.”

“that’s me,” marc grinned, “always the hero in my own story.”

as the spinning slowed down, marc looked up at you with a soft smile. “you’re not getting dizzy, right?” he asked with a little concern in his voice.

“nope, i’m good,” you said, smiling down at him. “but you’re making me want to give you a reward for being such a good ‘hero.’”

he raised an eyebrow playfully. “oh? and what kind of reward are we talking about here?”

you leaned down and gave him a soft kiss on the lips, lingering for a moment before pulling away. “that kind,” you said with a smile.

marc’s smile widened. “well, now that was worth it.”

finally, after a few more moments of walking around with you on his shoulders, he gently lowered you back down to the ground, making sure you were steady. “all done, princesa. feel safe?”

“yep,” you said, nodding with a smile. “but i might just need another lift to make sure you’re still as strong as you say.”

marc laughed, shaking his head. “you’re never going to let me forget this, are you?”

“not a chance,” you said, sticking your tongue out at him playfully.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added!

[femmesport]

Three Strikes, We're Out

prompt: paige and azzi never meant to be a secret. it took subtle changes for the teammates to catch up. wc: 1.6k an: hii!! i know i just posted, but i saw a tiktok and idk i was inspired. please please pleASE send me prompts or ideas i need some ahhh also please ignore any mistakes - i'm too tired to edit ahhh

neither paige nor azzi meant to keep their relationship a secret. honestly. well, partially. it was meant to be private not secret from fans, but then staying quiet about it became too easy. their love was never the loud type anyway. they showed love in small interactions but never seemed to find the words to tell their closest people. it was easy that way. not that they would ever lie if anyone asked, but no one did.

to be fair, their teammates never thought to question them. anyone with eyes could recognize that paige looked at azzi like she hung the moon. and azzi would occasionally shut down and only let paige in to work through it. in the team’s eyes, this was simply the product of years of friendship long before they had even heard of their other teammates.

the shifts came in paige’s final year at uconn. they were small, but the team was observant.

“paige” azzi huffs out as she falls onto a bench after extra sprints, “can you please tie my shoe? i am going to pass out if i have to bend over.” azzi explains leaning back her head and throwing an arm over her eyes.

paige had been a few feet in front of her hunched over and not appearing to be doing much better. this had been the first set of sprints after a summer of strength training and basketball practices. everyone was struggling with conditioning. 

kk and ice had snorted, waiting for even paige to laugh in azzi’s face. this seems to be the annual routine on the first day of conditioning. however, the routine snapped when paige nodded her head in azzi’s direction and bent down in front of her to tie her shoe laces.

paige takes her time and gently laces it up and looks up and smiles at azzi, who has finally leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. their faces were only inches apart and it seemed so intimate. as paige finishes she wraps her hand around azzi’s calf without breaking eye contact.

“thank you,” azzi whispers with her eyes never leaving paige’s.

“anything for you, pretty girl,” paige whispers in return with a gentle squeeze to azzi’s calf before standing up to walk towards her water. azzi’s eyes follow paige’s retreating figure with a soft smile.

“i know y’all playin’ right now,” ice offers out while sarah simply looks at the two and shakes her head.

“that was too whipped even for you guys,” jana pipes in.

to their credit, azzi and paige had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed before standing up and returning to the court. everyone else just shook their heads and tried to justify their mental gymnastics being used to explain the behavior. conditioning resumed and everyone quickly became too focused to think of the interaction any longer.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the next incident happened on media day. the music had been flowing as the team sat around an oversized makeup room while people fluttered in and out taking care of various people’s make up, hair, and any other micro detail that the camera could pick up on.

someone had a speaker set up blaring 30 for 30. the upperclassmen were sitting around and goofing off waiting for their turns to be called. some had been filming tiktoks and others just sat and relaxed in the few moments of silence. seeing each other all done up like this was always a little weird.

in a small group of players, paige had pulled azzi forward with her hand gently on azzi’s jaw. paige somehow had acquired the lip gloss that the make up team had been using. she took it upon herself to reapply it for azzi.

now, it wasn’t this act itself that made the team pause and really look at the two. it was how their faces were only a few inches apart and they were smiling softly at each other. it was how azzi was humming to the music with her hands set gently on paige’s hips. it was when paige paused her work to smile for azzi.

“only want your love if it’s solid” paige mouths to the lyrics with a smile. azzi just grins in return through the next line of the song before catching up.

“that’s the way i like it” she mouths in return and paige grins before pulling back as the two return to a respectable distance.

they turn back to their team and their smiles quickly turn to look sheepish. various people were sitting around staring at them. some with slack jaws and more theatrics than others. kk looked like she just witnessed the resurrection of jesus.

“uhm, so what was that?” kk hurries out with a point in their direction. she pointed more at paige knowing azzi was more likely to shut her out.

“what do you mean?” paige responds with a shrug pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“girl boo, you know what i am talking about. don’t even play” kk responds and azzi smiles and stands up as her name is called from the media team.

“nope. no idea what you are talking about,” paige then pushes herself up, “i’m going to go do my annual media day tiktok.”

as paige left the rest of the team groaned and then simply sighed and returned to their earlier activities. they knew they weren’t getting any answers and decided that pushing it was not worth it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the final straw came in a moment that was relatively subtle compared to the previous two. it came during a team hangout at the dorms. kk, sarah, and jana had found someone’s uno cards and began the most unseriously intense game. ice and aubrey were arguing over a tiktok. caroline and ayanna were raiding the cabinets for food.

paige had been sitting on the couch scrolling through tiktok. azzi had been in her room finishing up an assignment, but finally approached the chaos with a tired smile. her eyes scanned the room before landing on paige and moving in that direction as if with a gravitational pull.

paige looked up and raised her arm for azzi to settle into her side. azzi leaned into paige’s side with her head resting on paige’s shoulder. her body was pressed up against paige’s and at the proximity of the older girl, she simply melts.

“hey, beautiful” paige smiles down, “did you finish your work?”

“mm, i think so,” azzi mumbles sleepily letting her eyes flutter shut and somehow managing to snuggle closer into paige’s side.

“you’re clingy” paige jokes in a whisper down to azzi who just sighs.

“‘m sleepy and you’re soft” azzi murmurs and paige holds her tighter, leaning her mouth down to azzi’s head.

“just for you” she presses a kiss into azzi’s head and then looks back up realizing the room had gone silent. all eyes were pointed in their direction with everyone seemingly paused in the middle of their actions.

“...yes?” paige offers out after a moment of staring and for a moment you could hear a pin drop.

“you guys do realize you’re in love right” kk blurts out stunned in which paige and azzi both chuckle softly.

“i mean after two years together i would hope so,” azzi says nonchalantly while paige smiles down at her.

“pause” kk stands up and jana is quick to follow, “two years together? you’re lying!” kk is gesturing wildly while the rest of their team stands in shock.

“what do you mean two years together?” ice rushes out and paige looks back at them with a smile.

“i think we are past the half year point, so it actually might be closer to three” paige smirks, “but yeah, we have been dating for that long.”

“and why didn’t we know” ayanna groans out and aubrey starts laughing from somewhere to the side.

“you never asked” paige shrugs and azzi opens her eyes to look around with a smile.

“why would we think to ask? we had trust that our teammates–who are like family, mind you–would tell us something this wild” kk sputters out.

“guess we were thinking a little differently,” azzi adds, sitting up but remaining in paige’s arms. sarah simply shakes her head.

“i wish i could say i didn’t believe this” caroline offers.

“wait, who had that bet going” sarah pipes up and ice looks in her direction.

“damn it!” ice groans out, falling back into the chair.

“what bet?” azzi frowns as everyone starts getting louder.

“yes!!” caroline shouts out and runs over to hug sarah dramatically, “i completely forgot!”

“there was a bet going on when you guys would stop just looking at each other and actually do something about it, and carol was the only one who had faith in you guys getting together before paige graduates” aubrey laughs and paige feels her phone vibrate as she was sure someone was notifying the team chat.

“nah, you guys are crazy for that” paige laughs sitting forward.

“please tell me we won’t have to deal with you guys being all couple-y and gross now” jana groans, falling back dramatically.

azzi shrugs, “i mean we have been together and couple-y for two years without you guys noticing.”

“hey, but now, i can be a little louder and prouder to show off my girl” paige says with a smirk as she wraps her arms around azzi’s waist and presses her face into azzi’s neck.

“nope, absolutely not” ayanna mumbles while everyone else freaks out.

paige lifts her head and smiles at azzi before leaning in to press her lips to her girlfriend’s. the reactions become far louder and dramatic and the two can only smirk as they rest their foreheads against each others’.

“guess, everyone knows now” azzi mumbles, eyes drifting to paige’s lips before settling back on her eyes.

“good” paige whispers and leans in, pressing another kiss. the room around them was loud, but this? this was all them.

feedback would be appreciated!! tysm <3

-- tea ★’*•.¸♡

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part four)

warnings ; where do i start. public sex kinda (they’re in an office), choking, degradation lowkey, fingering, unprotected sex, reader gets forced to say thank you??? idk bruh

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; let’s get one thing straight here — this is porn. porn to the highest degree. however, this is porn with plot, i swear. also, just so everyone’s aware, this is tpod!jk core. like this is how i imagine him when i write him (with this song. and that hair. especially this song and you SHOULD listen to it while reading.) anyways my point here is that this smut has meaning and it is not just some crack of the tension whip (although that, it is too. whatever. say thank you Ang!) <33

playlist here *and you should listen to meddle about while reading this*

series masterlist here

The headlines had hit before you’d even left the gala.

And by the time you wake up the next morning — bare-faced, half-blind, head pounding from one too many champagne flutes — it’s already a media typhoon.

At first, it’s quiet. A low simmer of speculation: grainy fan-captured footage, a couple throwaway tweets, Reddit sleuths dissecting every inch of fabric between Jungkook’s sleeve and Jennie’s waist like it’s a forensic crime scene. You squint at the screen, sip your espresso, and think Okay. Annoying, but containable.

Then it detonates.

Somewhere between your second cup of coffee and your third panicked email to the PR team, the entire internet decides: they’re in love. Secretly married. Expecting twins. Maybe launching a couple’s perfume line.

Your phone has been possessed ever since, buzzing, ringing, lighting up like a slot machine from hell. Sunrise to sunset, it doesn’t stop. Calvin Klein executives, press liaisons, Jungkook’s management.

Everywhere you look, there’s another headline screaming at you in all-caps bold Helvetica.

“JENNIE & JUNGKOOK: CALVIN KLEIN’S POWER COUPLE?”

“WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE GALA? BLACKPINK AND BTS HOTTEST COUPLE”

No confirmation. No Dispatch exposé. No official anything.

None of it matters though, because the internet doesn’t wait for facts. It builds empires out of crumbs. And right now, it’s building one out of Jungkook’s smirk and the angle of Jennie’s clavicle.

“This is a disaster,” you mutter, hunched over your desk like a shell-shocked war general, fingers pressing into your temples hard enough to leave dents.

Across from you, Daniel doesn’t even look up. “No shit.”

He’s typing at Mach speed, probably trying to get ahead of the narrative. Your assistant is juggling five calls at once. The PR team is in full red-alert mode, assembling a strategy board like they’re planning a military coup.

You’ve been on back-to-back calls with Jungkook’s manager for the past day, trying to glue this mess back together with nothing but rage and anxiety.

“Can we at least get his company to release a statement?” you ask, flipping through the latest crisis reports.

Daniel snorts. “They aren’t touching this with a ten-foot pole.”

You glare. “Why?”

He glances up, deadpan. “Because it’s free publicity.”

You exhale so sharply it feels like your soul exits your body. Of course. Of fucking course.

Jungkook’s name is trending worldwide along with Jennie’s. Calvin Klein’s engagement metrics have gone full meteoric. This is the kind of viral attention marketing teams dream about minus the spontaneous combustion of your sanity. So, all that to say, no one actually cares that you’re bleeding out behind the scenes. That you haven’t slept in 24 hours. That your screen time is officially criminal. That every time you close your eyes, you see fan edits of his hand on her waist set to some dramatic TikTok audio and captioned “soulmates.”

The worst part of it all is you haven’t seen him. Not in meetings, in hallways and not even a fucking text.

While you’re spiraling into madness trying to do damage control, Jungkook is out there existing, probably blissfully unaware, shirtless in his hotel room, eating ramen and ignoring 400 missed calls.

Professionally — you’re furious. This was supposed to be your campaign, your legacy. Not some romantic scandal rebranded into clickbait. The optics are a nightmare. The timing couldn’t be worse. And now, instead of launching a clean global message, you’re managing a tabloid firestorm.

Personally — you want to launch him into the sun.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The tension in the Los Angeles office conference room is unbearable. You sit at the head of the table, posture perfect but jaw clenched, while Jungkook lounges across from you like he didn’t just derail your entire campaign with his fucking face.

His expression is unreadable but you can feel it, the heat rolling off him. He’s pissed too. Good. Let him stew.

His manager is talking fast, voice tight, while Calvin Klein’s PR lead cycles through stats like this is a TED Talk. “There’s no actual damage… if anything, the buzz is working in our favor. Global engagement is up 36% in the past three days.”

You grip your pen so tightly it might become a weapon.

They’re treating it like a miracle, like this whole thing was orchestrated. Like you haven’t been putting out fires for 72 straight hours while Jungkook goes radio silent and lets the rumor mill chew you alive.

No one’s asking how you’re doing. No one’s wondering why your hands are shaking beneath the table or your voice has gone hoarse from repeating the same line in every call: There is no confirmed relationship between our brand ambassadors.

You don’t even look at Jungkook. You don’t need to. You can feel his crossed arms and the stubborn, infuriating silence a mile away. He hasn’t said a word this whole meeting, just simmering annoyance.

It’s mutual.

By the time the meeting wraps, you’re seconds away from snapping your pen in half and hurling it across the room.

“We’ll keep monitoring the situation,” Jungkook’s manager says, closing a notebook with a satisfied little snap. “No statements for now. Let’s see how it plays out.”

You smile politely. You are going to kill him. And you’re going to do it in a very calm, very professional, very brand-safe way.

Make no mistake, Jungkook is not getting out of this untouched. Especially not after you haven’t slept in three days, after you touched yourself like some hypnotized virgin because he told you to.

Everyone nods. There’s the rustle of papers, the scrape of chairs on polished floors, the low murmur of corporate farewells. One by one, people file out of the conference room, clutching tablets and crisis decks pretending they weren’t just gleefully discussing how to milk this for record-breaking engagement.

The door clicks shut behind the last person.

Thick, cloying, suffocating silence. It swallows the room whole.

For some reason you can’t explain, Jungkook does not file out of the room with the rest of the team. No, he sits there. You don’t move or have the energy to question his motives.

You sit frozen in your chair, every muscle pulled taut, fingers tapping slow against the glass table, almost like a warning and a countdown. Your other hand is curled into a fist in your lap, nails digging crescent moons into your palm as you do the mental math on whether murder voids your employment contract.

Your eyes flick to Jungkook, who’s sprawled back in his chair, legs spread slightly apart, one ringed finger lazily dragging along the curve of his jaw like he’s bored. Or amused. Or both. His expression is neutral, completely detached. Like the headlines weren’t about him and he’s never even heard the word scandal.

He’s got that infuriating look again from the other night — that what chaos? look—and your jaw ticks.

Tap. Tap. Tap. One last, sharp crack of nail to glass.

“Tell me you’ve seen the fucking headlines.” You don’t yell. You don’t need to. Your voice slices through the air like it’s powered by three sleepless nights and a steady diet of cold espresso and escalating fury.

Jungkook’s eyes finally lift slowly like he’s gracing you with his attention.

You glare. “Tell me you’re not actually this stupid.”

The barest twitch of his brow. Something flashes behind his eyes — humor? guilt? boredom? — but it’s gone before you can grab hold of it.

Then he shrugs like your career isn’t currently dangling off a PR cliff. “What do you want me to do?” His tone is even, the exact pitch of someone who’s never once had to clean up after himself. “Call Dispatch and tell them I was just being friendly?”

You blink casually, pulse thudding in your ears.

You’re too well-trained to explode on him. Too experienced, too poised. But, something inside you combusts. A small, silent implosion of patience and all the fake calm you’ve been wearing.

He has no idea what it’s like to sit through back-to-back damage control meetings while your brand is turning into tabloid fodder. No clue how many favors you’ve had to call in, how many emails you’ve had to rewrite until your fingers went numb. How many headlines you’ve seen this week that made your stomach twist.

Somehow, he’s still looking at you like you’re the one overreacting.

Your voice drops, quieter now. “Friendly doesn’t involve your hand on her waist.”

Jungkook tilts his head lazily, like he’s trying to remember. “Didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to talk to people anymore.”

“Oh my god,” you exhale. “You are insufferable.”

The fact that he’s still calm, still sprawled out in that chair like this is just another workday, is only making everything worse.

You shove back from your chair so hard it scrapes across the floor with a screech that would make your assistant wince. Heels clicking, spine ramrod straight, you round the table like a storm in four-inch heels, not stopping until you’re toe-to-toe with his chair.

He doesn’t flinch, not even a blink. Just watches you approach like he’s a monument to indifference. His legs are splayed slightly apart, both arms calmly resting in his lap.

Your blood boils so hot it’s a miracle the fire alarms haven’t gone off.

“You think this is funny?” Your voice pierces through the air. “You think this is some harmless little flirtation?”

Still, no reaction. Just a slow exhale through his nose, like he’s being so patient with you.

“This isn’t about your personal life, Jungkook. This is about your goddamn responsibility to this brand,” You tower over him, and there’s a sense of joy that ripples through you as he stares up at you.

So, you keep going. “Do you even get how hard I’ve worked to make this campaign seamless? Flawless? Executives don’t throw global platform rollouts at just anyone, Jungkook. I fought tooth and nail for this and for you and now the only thing people are talking about is Jennie like it’s some soft launch.”

You see it the moment it lands; the flicker in his eyes, the slight drop of his shoulders, a shadow passing across his expression before it hardens again. Yet he has the nerve to lean back even farther like you’re just a minor inconvenience standing between him and his afternoon protein shake.

Then, finally, he speaks. It’s exactly as smug as you feared it would be. “Oh,” he says, “So that’s what’s really bothering you.”

Your jaw tightens so fast it might shatter.

Jungkook’s eyes glint, lips twitching, “You don’t like that people are talking about me with someone else.”

He says it like it’s a fact, like it’s already been decided, as if he’s not just poking the bear. He’s setting the entire forest on fire to see how you’ll react.

You laugh bitterly. It’s the kind of sharp, completely unhinged sound that spills out when you’ve officially crossed the border between frustration and rage. Your vision tunnels and your fists clench. You wonder if any judge would convict you for knocking out one of his perfectly white teeth.

“You’re fucking impossible,” you spit, nearly breathless.

“No,” he says slowly, coming to some realization. “You just hate when things don’t go your way.”

You take a step forward, dangerously close to falling on top of him in that chair. Close enough to count the flecks in his eyes, close enough to rip that chain off his neck if you wanted to.

“You are a reckless, immature, insufferable little shit who doesn’t know when to stop,” you snap, every word a direct shot to his ego.

Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “And you’re a fucking control freak who thinks the world will crumble if you’re not there to hold it up.”

Your breath hitches. That one sentence goes deeper than it should. That wasn’t a throwaway insult. That wasn’t just something to piss you off. That was a direct fucking hit, and Jungkook knows it.

“You know what the worst part is?” you whisper, each word soaked in absolute disgust. “You actually think you’re special.”

Jungkook’s expression shifts, and not in a dramatic, storming-off, throw-the-chair kind of way; he’s too practiced for that. But it’s there beneath the surface.

You see it, and you double down.

“Of course you think the world revolves around you,” You say, voice curling with disbelief. “You walk around like consequences don’t apply. Like you can do whatever the fuck you want and someone will be there to fix it. You’re not brilliant. You’re not clever. You’re just an overgrown man-child with too much power and zero idea what to do with it.”

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek deliberately like he’s trying to decide whether to bite back or bite harder.

“Oh, and you?” he says, voice dropping into that venom-laced register he saves for moments like this. “You’re just another girl in heels, pretending your job makes you interesting.”

Your blood is boiling, sure. Your hands are clenched so tightly you’re pretty sure your nails have left permanent dents in your skin. But you’ve had enough. “You’re exhausting.”

“You’re unbearable,” He grits out, standing up to loom over you. You don’t back down, though.

“You’re the most insufferable man I’ve ever met.” You spit the sentence like you’re trying to scrape the taste of him off your tongue.

Jungkook lets out a short laugh that’s dry and humorless. You realize now you might be in serious trouble, with him being so close to you that you can smell his scent, can see every curve in his pink lips. It’s also not helping that when he’s standing like this in front of you, he practically towers over you and you can look right up into his darkened eyes. But you’ve done worse to more important men.

“You should be fucking thanking me,” Jungkook glares.

That’s the moment where your patience fractures like glass. A laugh explodes from your chest, the kind of sound that only comes when you’re so far past your limit that your body doesn’t know what else to do. You throw your hands in the air, exasperated, stunned, teetering on the edge of hysterical.

“Thanking you?” you repeat, incredulous. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Let me just clear my schedule so I can fall to my knees in eternal gratitude.”

He doesn’t blink. He watches you with that calmness, like he’s the victim here. You keep going, the rage pouring out unchecked now. “Thank you for what, Jungkook? For being a walking liability? For dragging the campaign into a scandal before we even hit global release? For making my job a nightmare?”

And then he says the sentence that knocks the wind out of you. The one that makes everything go suddenly, dangerously quiet. “This campaign is nothing without me.”

The words land like a slap. Your mouth parts, stunned at first. A full second passes before the heat rises to your face, before the fury starts buzzing in your limbs like electricity, before you really register what the fuck he just said.

Beneath all of it — the rage, the resentment, the sheer disbelief — it’s there. That horrible, humiliating ache lodged deep in your chest. Because god, you hate him. You hate the way he talks, the way he breathes, the way he stares at you like he’s not afraid of you. But what you hate more is the way you still want him, even now and even when he’s infuriating and reckless and dragging your hard work through the dirt, your body still betrays you. It aches in places you swore he couldn’t reach. It’s disgusting. It’s pathetic. And you’d rather die than let him see it.

You step in closer, close enough to smell the cologne on his collar. Close enough that if either of you moved an inch, this wouldn’t be an argument; it’d be something else entirely. Something much worse.

“Is that what you think?” you whisper, voice cutting and low, trembling with rage you can’t contain.

His eyes flicker, uncertain for the first time.

“Fine,” you continue, sweetly now. Your voice dips into something syrupy, bitter enough to rot your teeth. “You want a thank you?”

“Thank you, Jungkook. Thank you for being the absolute worst celebrity I’ve ever had the misfortune of working with. Thank you for the emotional whiplash, for reminding me every single day that talent doesn’t equal professionalism. Thank you for making my life a fucking nightmare. Really… thank you. “

Jungkook’s lips twitch, not in a smirk, not exactly, but not a smile either. It’s a little wicked. The kind of expression that says I know what I’m about to do, and I know you’re going to let me.

Then he leans in slightly, enough to make your breath pause and your spine lock straight. His voice drops into that low, dangerous place that always sets your nerves alight. “You are so fucking welcome.”

That’s really all it takes.

It’s like a match to gasoline. Like every insult and eye-roll and pointed glare was just foreplay for this exact moment.

And then he’s on you.

There’s no grace to it. No warm-up. No time to second-guess what the hell is happening. His mouth crashes into yours like it’s been building since the first time he pissed you off. His kiss isn’t sweet. It’s not poetic. It’s not some delicate, well-choreographed thing you’d find in a film scored by violins.

It’s a breaking point: his lips bruising yours, his tongue sliding in like he owns the right and claiming victory, like he’s waited too long to keep pretending he doesn’t want this as badly as you do.

And you do. God, you do.

Your back hits the edge of the table. His hands are already everywhere, one wrapped tight around your waist, the other gripping your jaw with just enough pressure to make your head spin. There’s a very real chance he’ll leave marks and an even more real part of you that wants him to.

This is so incredibly, epically stupid.

Anyone could walk by. Anyone could glance through the conference room glass and see you kissing Jeon Jungkook like he’s the only thing keeping your heart from flatlining. This is career suicide. This is the real scandal.

For a moment, you don’t care. You don’t care about the job or the risk or the headlines this could spark by morning.

Right now, you need this. You need him. You need the way his mouth drags against yours, hungry and punishing. You need the little sound he makes when you fist your hands into the collar of his shirt and yank him closer like you’re daring him to ruin you.

You need the way he tastes, like it’s the final word in every fight you’ve lost to him.

Your heart is hammering. Your skin’s on fire. And all you can think between the biting kisses, the ragged breaths, the way his teeth graze your bottom lip like he wants to keep a piece of you, is how badly you want more.

He knows, because the grip on your waist tightens like he’s trying to anchor you. His breathing’s uneven now, ragged against your cheek. His lips are red, swollen. He pulls back just a fraction to look at you.

The worst part — the part that makes you want to scream into the nearest cushion and maybe also sue him for emotional damages — is that this is his fault. All of it. Three nights ago, he told you to get off. Just like that.“Maybe you just need to get off.” So you did. Not with him, because you still had a shred of pride at the time, but alone, practically shaking. With one hand between your thighs and the other gripping your pillow. The whole time, you imagined him, his mouth, the way he’d sound telling you to let go, like it was an order, not a favor. You’d never cum so fast in your life.

Now your body’s not even pretending to be neutral. You want him. And honestly, you can’t even blame yourself anymore. What choice did you ever have?

His mouth is back on yours in an instant, hotter, rougher, like he’s trying to erase every sharp word you’ve ever thrown at him and replace it with this. Tongue, teeth, hands. It’s all-consuming.

His lips drop lower, dragging along the edge of your jaw. He bites once, hard enough to make your pulse stutter, then soothes it with the flat of his tongue, mouth trailing down your neck like he’s tasting a victory

The heat of his breath hits the column of your throat, and you shudder. Your hands scramble for something to hold onto, fingers gripping the edge of the table like that might ground you, like the cool surface might offset the fire currently crawling beneath your skin. But then his mouth finds the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, and he sucks lightly, enough pressure to make your knees go soft and a gasp slip from your lips before you can bite it back.

And that’s when reality sucker punches you.

This is a conference room.

A Calvin Klein conference room with glass walls and a brand reputation you’re quite literally paid to protect. These walls are not built for discretion. You could throw a stapler against them and still hear the gossip echo through the elevators.

You moan again and it’s the sound that yanks you back into yourself.

You break away from his mouth, breath ragged, pulse sprinting, trying to pull oxygen back into your brain and remember things like logic, boundaries, laws.

Your fists are knotted in the collar of his shirt as you breathe out, “Lock the fucking door. Close the blinds before someone sees.”

Jungkook freezes for a second. And then that smirk creeps back in like it never left, like you didn’t just try to be the voice of reason and immediately lose to your own body chemistry.

He leans in again, and his mouth grazes your ear, his tone low “What?” he whispers, a chuckle riding the syllable. “You don’t want anyone to see how desperate you are for me?”

Your breath hitches at that. You should be angry. You should throw him across the room and write him up for misconduct and file a strongly worded HR complaint with yourself.

But instead, your stomach flips. And his hand slides down your side, fingers digging in just tight enough to make you feel pinned in place.

“You don’t want anyone to see you thank me properly?” he murmurs, his mouth grazing the side of your neck again.

You hate that it lands. You hate the way heat immediately pools deep in your stomach, sharp and unrelenting, like your body has fully abandoned ship and left your brain behind with a middle finger and a “good luck.”

With every brain cell you have left, you know you should push him away. You should shut this whole thing down before it crosses a line so thick it might as well be in neon.

Instead, you let go of his shirt and he grins like he knows exactly what that means.

With a breathy exhale, he turns and strolls toward the door with that godforsaken confidence, the kind that makes you want to rip off his shirt and punch him in the face, preferably in that order. His movements are infuriatingly casual. You hear the click of the lock, sharp in the quiet room.

One by one, he draws the blinds closed, shielding the floor-to-ceiling windows from view. Not that there’s anyone left to see; It’s late and way past working hours. The only people left in this building are you and him.

By the time he turns back to you, the air feels different. It’s the kind that screams no take-backs.

When Jungkook starts walking toward you, you swear your lungs forget how to function. He’s looking at you like he already knows what’s about to happen and he’s already halfway through imagining exactly how you’ll fall apart for him.

Which, for all intents and purposes, is so annoying.

You hate how good he looks under fluorescent lighting. Hate the way he moves like a storm rolling in. Hate the way your stomach flips when his hands find your hips, fingers curling tight, tugging you in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His lips press against yours again. His mouth is all heat and pressure, tongue pushing past your lips.You don’t stand a chance. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling, gripping as he groans into your mouth. His fingers drift lower, trailing down your waist with infuriating patience.

He smirks against your lips, no less. “That’s more like it,” he murmurs with the kind of voice that says I knew you’d break eventually, like this is some victory lap and not the exact thing he’s been secretly begging for just as much as you have.

His hands slide up your thighs now, slow and teasing, thumbs grazing the hem of your pencil skirt. He pushes the fabric inch by inch, taking his sweet time, fingers skimming bare skin like he’s trying to savor the reveal.

Your breath stutters. Jungkook, the ever observant bastard, notices.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, breath warm as he says, “Still waiting for that thank you, sweetheart.”

Your pulse jumps and he takes that as an invitation to move his fingers even higher. Your head tilts back against instinct as his mouth drags along your jaw.

“Come on,” he hums, voice silky. “Be polite.”

You’re already dizzy. Your body’s betraying you by the second, caving faster than you’d like to admit. Every part of you is screaming more, while your brain is just quietly short-circuiting in the background, waving a white flag.

But there’s still a sliver of fight left in you. You grit your teeth. “Fuck off.”

His hands shove your skirt the rest of the way up, no hesitation, fabric sliding around your waist like gravity’s no longer relevant. He steps back half a beat to look and the second his eyes drop, you see it.

His resolve flickers long enough for his jaw to tense, for his breath to catch ever so slightly at the sight of your black lace panties stretched against skin. It’s the tiniest shift but it’s there.

He clicks his tongue, a single, dismissive tsk like this is an error. A styling choice to be corrected. Like your underwear is somehow offensive to his sense of dominance and he’s going to rectify it immediately.

His fingers trace the curve of your hip, dragging over the band of lace like he’s thinking about doing something with it but not yet. He stays right there, just beneath the threshold of satisfaction, basking in the power of your suspended breath.

He leans in, “Only polite girls get what they want.”

Your pulse spikes so fast it makes you dizzy. His lips ghost along your jaw barely there, and then a sudden squeeze at your thigh

“That dirty mouth?” he murmurs, dragging his lips back to your ear, “It’s not getting you anywhere.”

His presence is overwhelming. He’s not just standing in front of you, he’s all over you. In your space, in your breath, in your bloodstream.

He’s not even doing that much and you’re still putty in his hands.

His fingers skim lower, brushing dangerously close, hovering over the heat between your thighs like he’s got nothing but time. He doesn’t dare touch you fully though.

“You feel that?” he whispers, his knuckles grazing across your clothed clit.

You hate the way your head tips back slightly. The way your lashes flutter without permission. The way your hips tilt forward subtly enough to betray you completely.

You hear the smile in his voice before you see it. “Oh, baby…”

His voice is smug as his thumb drags along the soaked strip of lace between your legs. His lips curl as he feels it, the proof of what he’s doing to you.

“Fuck,” he breathes. He’s just confirmed his own suspicions.

“Still telling me to fuck off, when you’re this wet for me?” His words go straight to your core.

You dig your nails into the glass table like it might keep you grounded, like maybe furniture will save your dignity when your body is this far gone. Every muscle is wound tight, clenching around nothing.

“Shut up,” you snap.

Or at least, you try to. Your voice cracks and it’s more of a gasp than a threat.

Jungkook laughs so sure of himself. The sound rolls over your skin. “That’s not how you thank me, sweetheart.”

His thumb slides down again, agonizingly slow, pressing right where you’re aching, but lightly to make you whimper.

Your hips jerk forward instinctively. He watches the way your body reacts, eyes locked on your every movement, cataloging every breath, every flinch, every subtle giveaway.

“C’mon,” he breathes, low and taunting as his fingers drag along the damp lace again. “Be polite. Say thank you.”

You want to kill him. You want to slap the look off his face, shove him into the wall, storm out of the room with your head high and your dignity intact.

Instead, you bite down on your bottom lip so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t split.

Your chest rises, sharp and fast, trying to hold yourself together while his fingers keep up their rhythm, the barely-there pressure that amount to nothing and everything all at once.

Every motion is deliberate, cruel in the way only Jungkook can manage. He drags his fingers over the soaked fabric with precision, keeping you right on the edge without ever tipping you over.

His dark eyes flick up to your face, full of wicked amusement. Your whole body trembles, thighs twitching with every gentle, useless stroke that doesn’t give you what you need.

It’s humiliating, honestly, how badly you want this. How badly you want him to just pull your panties aside and do something about it. You hate how soaked you are.

Jungkook chuckles. “Getting desperate, baby?”

His fingers press down slightly harder, dragging slow and steady over your clit, still over the lace, still refusing to give you the friction you’re dying for. It makes your breath sink into your chest, your thighs squeeze together, your pride snap a little further.

“No,” you force out, barely above a whisper. It’s pathetic. You know it, he knows it. You hate how weak it sounds, how shaky your voice is like your body’s begging even when your mouth is trying to hold the line.

And then — god help you — his thumb swipes over your clit, the lightest brush, and it shoots lightning straight up your spine.

Your head tilts back with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut. His lips brush your jaw, deceptively soft.

“Then why are you shaking?” he whispers. He already knows the answer and just wants to hear you admit it.

Your pride is threadbare. Your breathing’s a mess. Your thighs are trembling. Your self-control has officially packed a suitcase and left the building.

“P-please, Jungkook—” you gasp, voice shaking.

His cock twitches against the front of his jeans at the sound. Before you can even protest or say some other snarky remark, his fingers vanish.

You blink, stunned as he pulls back. He shakes his head slowly, like he’s the one let down here. “That’s not a thank you, sweetheart.”

You don’t even have time to react. One second you’re trying to remember how to breathe, and the next, he moves. Hands firm on your waist, grip unyielding, and then he lifts you like you weigh absolutely nothing. As if you’re just another object he’s decided he wants to rearrange, only this one’s got a mouth and an attitude and a skirt that’s now hiked halfway up her thighs. He places you right on top of the conference table and your breath catches.

Your heels skid against his jeans, scraping uselessly as you scramble to steady yourself. It’s humiliating how easily he manhandles you, how your pride takes a nosedive the second he steps between your legs and palms your knees wide like it’s the most obvious place they should be.

You’re caged in now. The position, however, seems to be a problem. A very large, very solid, very painful-to-ignore problem currently pressed against your cunt.

You grit your teeth, already seething, already spiraling, already half out of your mind with the unfairness of how badly you want this.

His head drops slightly as his tattooed fingers trail down again, grazing your inner thigh, slow and dangerous, until they find the damp lace between your legs. “Try again,” he whispers.

His thumb presses against your clit again but it’s still not enough. It’s slow, careful circles that make your hips twitch, make your legs shake.

His expression is ripped straight from your nightmares, or your fantasies. You can’t tell the difference anymore.

“That’s more like it,” he says like you’ve just proven a point for him. Like your shaking thighs are a confession and he’s been waiting all week to drag them out of you.

His thumb keeps moving, slow and taunting. The pressure is maddening. It’s fire with no release, torture with rhythm.

He tuts softly, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in both of you.

“Such a fucking mess,” he mutters, voice thick like molasses. His fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, hooking in, finally doing what you’ve been silently begging him to do for what feels like years.

He pushes the fabric aside, and the air hits you immediately. You suck in a breath like this whole thing has suddenly crossed from fantasy into something far too real.

Jungkook’s fingers slide through your slick folds, unhurried, gathering every bit of your arousal on those infuriatingly elegant hands. He groans at the feeling, the sound being punched out of him.

And when he lifts his hand to the light, fingers coated, glistening, spreading them slightly to watch your wetness stretch between them, you want to die. You want to combust.

His eyes flick back to yours, “Look at this. Dripping all over my hands. You really are pathetic, huh?”

You whimper. It’s not a choice. It’s not even voluntary. It’s just your body breaking, and he feels it. Feels the way your thighs twitch again, the way you clench around absolutely nothing, the way you respond to every filthy word he feeds you like it’s gospel.

His thumb swipes the slick across your bottom lip, but he’s already following it with two fingers, pressing gently, not forcing.

“Here,” he says, “Be a good girl. Taste yourself.”

And maybe in another life, you’d slap his hand away. Maybe you’d laugh. Maybe you’d remind him who the fuck you are and who works for who in this brand partnership. But, right now? Right now, your body is burning. Your pride is unraveling. Your brain is static.

You part your lips slowly and his fingers slip inside. Your eyes flutter shut while your tongue swirls over them. You taste yourself, sweet and sharp. You suck, gentle at first, then harder, and Jungkook curses under his breath.

You feel him, thick and straining through his jeans, twitching with every movement of your mouth, every drag of your tongue.

“Fuck,” he whispers, watching you like you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

Jungkook’s grin spreads like wildfire as he slips his fingers from your mouth, glistening with your taste. Under the soft conference room lighting, they shimmer like proof. Evidence. The loss of your ego documented in high definition.

Those same fingers trail back down, dragging across your skin like he’s etching his name into you. He dips between your thighs again, gathering the mess you’ve already made for him and then he inserts one finger… then two.

“F-fuck—” the word stumbles out of your mouth, sharp and fractured.

Your entire body jolts, instinct tightening your grip on his shoulders like he’s the only thing tethering you to the present. His tattooed knuckles vanish inside you, filling you with such ease, the stretch making your eyes flutter.

“Messy little thing, aren’t you,” he murmurs, so clearly pleased with himself it makes you want to scream.

His gaze stays locked on yours as he starts to pump them, dragging along every nerve-ending like he’s studied the terrain. His fingers seek until they find that one devastating spot.

Your head falls back, a moan slipping past your lips before you can catch it. It’s the kind of sound that has no place in a room like this, in a room where you’ve scolded interns and charmed executives.

Now you’re perched on a table in your own damn conference room, gasping around his hand, writhing against his touch like some desperate cliché. Your skirt bunched at your waist and your voice a breathy mess. Every sound that leaves you is proof of just how far you’ve fallen.

“There it is,” he exhales, palm grinding against your clit just enough to make your hips shake.

The contact is almost too much. His other hand grips your waist to steady you. His eyes never leave your face.

“So damn needy,” he teases, leaning in until his mouth brushes yours, until you can feel every syllable fan across your lips. “What do you think they’d say if they saw you like this?”

Your whole body locks up. Your breath snags, your legs clamp tighter around his hand, thighs trembling at the very idea of someone walking in, of someone catching you sitting across a boardroom table with Jungkook’s fingers deep inside you.

“Oh,” he tuts, smug and molten, “you like that.”

His pace picks up, thrusts deeper now, fingers slick and unforgiving, dragging another desperate moan out of you. His rhythm is ruthless, his tone even more so.

“You like the thought of being caught,” he says, “You like knowing you’d just keep taking it. Letting me fuck you open while anyone could walk through that door.”

Your body is giving you away. Clenching, shaking, grinding down against his hand like you’re chasing something you swore you’d never need from him.

He can feel how close you are, how every muscle in your body has gone taut, trembling, ready to break.

And before you can protest, he stops, pulls back just slightly, fingers dragging out. You let out a sound you don’t even recognize — part whimper, part curse, all frustration. You chase what he keeps pulling away, and it’s humiliating how little shame your body has left. You’re supposed to be better than this. You’re supposed to have dignity.

“So fucking greedy,” he mutters, voice all lazy cruelty, thumb circling over your clit in the most obnoxiously light touch imaginable. “But not a single thank you? That’s rude, baby.”

Your eyes snap open, burning holes into his stupidly infuriating face. He’s enjoying this, no, thriving on it like every second you squirm just proves a point he’s been waiting to make.

“Go to hell,” you spit, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “Just shut up and do it.”

He laughs. Actually laughs, like you didn’t just give him exactly what he wants. The sound is sharp and sends heat rolling through your spine in the worst way.

“There she is,” he says, and then his fingers enter you again and push deeper. He resumes the same slow, devastating rhythm that makes you want to scream and sob and slap him in the face all at once.

“That attitude’s going to be the death of you,” he shakes his head his other hand pins your thigh wide open. “Can’t follow the simplest instruction, can you?”

You glare, breath stuttering, thighs trembling around his wrist. You’re soaked. You’re twitchy. You’re seconds away from exploding and he’s still talking like this is some kind of training exercise.

“I don’t need to thank you for shit,” you grit out but your voice cracks halfway through.

“Sure you don’t,” he rolls his eyes, his fingers dragging out so painfully slow you swear your lungs stop working. He leaves you empty, throbbing, desperate.

He leans in, lips brushing your open mouth, barely there, like he’s daring you to beg. “Say it.”

The command lands like a slap. Your jaw tightens. Your pride hangs on by a thread. But his fingers curl again and your whole body clenches, bucking against him. His thumb presses harder now, rubbing tight, perfect circles. It’s torture. It’s heaven. It’s both.

“Say it,” he repeats, quieter this time, almost gentle. Which somehow makes it worse.

He doesn’t stop moving. He keeps pushing you closer, keeps working you with his long fingers like it’s some lesson in obedience and you’re failing miserably.

You crumble.

“T-thank you,” you gasp, barely audible, voice catching like it physically hurts to say it.

“There’s my girl,” Jungkook whispers, lips brushing yours. Fingers slam into you, hard and fast. Thumb relentless against your clit. His pace turns brutal in an instant, wringing every last shred of resistance from your body as he drags you straight to the edge.

He fucks you open with his fingers like he has a point to prove, and maybe he does. Maybe this whole thing is some twisted power play.

You’re clutching at his shoulders, his biceps, the table, anything that might ground you while your mouth flies open and your vision swims.

“Look at you,” he scoffs, voice ragged, fingers still thrusting deep and fast. “God, never seen you this out of control. “

You try to speak, try to say something sharp. Anything. But all that comes out is a gasp. Your head drops back and a string of breathless moans tumble from your mouth and you can’t stop them. You don’t even try.

“What?” Jungkook bites, fingers curling again, “No smartass comment now?”

His free hand grabs your jaw, forces your eyes to meet his. You look and feel like someone who’s been thoroughly, completely ruined.

“You were so mouthy earlier,” he taunts, lips brushing yours again, heat radiating between your bodies like static. “What the hell happened to that sharp little tongue?”

You really wish you had an answer.

A helpless sob punches out of your throat, your hips rolling into his palm like you’ve lost all motor control. It’s embarrassing. You should be embarrassed.

You’re too far gone to care, too high on the way he’s touching you to feel anything but that slippery, white-hot desperation boiling under your skin.

“Th-thank you,” you nearly scream, the words barely forming a shape. They’re not even yours. They feel stolen, ripped from someone else’s body and handed to him like a white flag.

Jungkook laughs, fingers slamming harder. His wrist is soaked with you, slick dripping down his knuckles as he fucks you with a pace that borders on brutal.

“That’s right, baby,” he groans, teeth clenched. His breath fans across your lips, hot and ragged. “Keep fucking thanking me.”

Your thighs start shaking. Like, really shaking. Not sexy trembling — it’s full-on, legs-aren’t-working, earthquake-mode collapse. His smirk is practically audible when he leans in closer, pressing his palm down just enough to keep you locked in place.

“Gonna cum for me?” he taunts cruelly. “Gonna soak my fucking hand like a good girl?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out, already unraveling. “Yes—please—fuck—”

It’s not graceful. It’s not pretty. It’s the kind of orgasm that folds you in half, that knocks the air from your lungs, that crashes into you like a freight train with zero brakes.

You cry out as your entire body convulses. Your juices gush out of you, coating his fingers, dripping onto his wrist, soaking the polished conference table beneath you.

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook breathes, eyes wide, jaw slack as he watches you fall apart in real time. His fingers finally slow, dragging out your high but your chest is still heaving, mind blank, vision fuzzy.

Your hands move on autopilot, grabbing his jaw, dragging him down like you can’t bear another second without his mouth. Your lips crash into his, your breath still stuttering as you kiss him like he’s oxygen.

Jungkook groans into your mouth, his grip on your thighs tightening as his hands, still slick with you, glide up your sides. He doesn’t wipe them clean. He smears you into your own skin, marking you like a trophy.

You reach down between your bodies, fingers fumbling for his jeans like you’re possessed. Your breath mixes with his, frantic and desperate.

“Take them off,” you pant, yanking at the waistband. “Fucking take them off, Jungkook.”

“Bossy now, huh?” he teases, brushing his lips over yours as he bats your hands away with infuriating ease, long enough to shove his jeans down himself.

The zipper splits the silence like a gunshot.

Your panties? Gone. He doesn’t ease them off, doesn’t bother with delicacy. He hooks his fingers under the lace, yanks hard, and the fabric tears clean in half before sailing somewhere behind you like a flag of surrender. You’re too stunned to even flinch.

His jeans hit the floor and boxers follow. Towering over you, cock flushed and straining, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip. He’s hard and you’re suddenly aware of just how empty you are without him.

You should stop. You know you should. This is a disaster. A mistake. An HR nightmare.

And then Jungkook smirks like the devil just handed him a keycard to your soul and those thoughts vanish.

His hands grip your thighs as he pushes them wider, spreading you open on the cold, polished surface of the Calvin Klein conference table like this is his personal altar.

“Better say thank you again,” he mutters condescendingly, as he lines himself up with the mess between your legs. “Might be your last chance to be polite.”

And like… objectively? You hate him. Right now… you hate yourself more.

The table is ice-cold against your bare skin, a jarring contrast to the way his body radiates heat between your thighs. His cock drags through your slick, hot and heavy and completely disrespectful, teasing your entrance and tapping against your clit like he’s knocking just to be rude.

A high-pitched moan escapes before you can clamp it down, and suddenly your hands are flying to his shoulders, gripping tight, nails digging in, like he might float away if you don’t anchor yourself to something solid.

“So fucking desperate,” he notes against your jaw, lips dragging across your skin like he’s trying to mark a trail. “You always get this needy when you’re about to beg?”

You want to tell him to shut up. You do. But then he nudges forward again, his cock just barely breaching your entrance, not even halfway in, and your thighs are already trembling like he’s got you wired to a detonator.

“You’re lucky I’m even giving you this,” he says, and… okay. You should slap him. Or yourself. Or whoever failed you in your formative years because what the fuck is happening right now.

Maybe your parents didn’t hug you enough. Maybe this is some long-buried trauma expressing itself through your complete inability to say no to a cocky k-pop idol who’s holding you open like a wishbone and acting like he’s doing you a favor.

But also… it’s been months. Months since you’ve been touched. Months since someone made you feel like this. Maybe ever since someone made you feel like this.

It doesn’t help that he’s so good at this. Infuriatingly, obscenely, life-ruiningly good.

He drags his cock along your folds again, spreading your arousal over his length, dragging it torturously slow over your clit just to feel your hips buck, just to hear that gasp fall from your lips.

“What’s missing?” he asks, fake innocence dripping from every syllable. “Hmm?”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip like he’s testing the weight of your silence. Like he knows your pride is the last thing standing between you and complete humiliation.

You know what he wants. You know what he’s waiting for yet your lips stay sealed. Your nails dig deeper into his skin. You hold on to your last shred of dignity like it’s going to save you from drowning even though you’re already in over your head.

“Fine,” he breathes, feigning disappointment as he presses forward, just the tip. “Guess you don’t want it that bad after all.”

That’s the moment your sanity packs a suitcase and bolts for the nearest emergency exit.

You grab his face and crash your mouth into his like you’re trying to shut him up with teeth. The kiss is messy, all heat and spit and pure, frantic need.

“Thank you,” you breathe into his mouth, unhinged, panting, kissing him again before he can gloat.

“Thank you,” again, more wrecked now, your body grinding up against him like your life depends on it. You’re trying to make him cave, to make him snap. Trying to ruin him the way he’s been systematically dismantling you.

Your hand slides between your bodies like muscle memory, wrapping around his cock for the first time, and…

“Oh my fucking god.”

The words fall out before you even process them.

He’s massive. Thick too. Your fingers don’t even fully meet around him. You blink, stunned, palm moving in slow strokes as you feel the weight of him, already leaking against your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” you say under your breath, more to yourself than anything.

Jungkook grins, so satisfied with himself and for one brief, fleeting second, you almost come to your senses.

His smirk returns with full force, his dark eyes blown wide, borderline unhinged as he watches you really see him. Watches the way your fingers tremble around his cock, the way your mouth goes slack like your brain is buffering under the weight of the moment.

“Yeah?” he breathes, tilting his head just slightly,“That mouth finally quieted down.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when he’s twitching in your grip, thick and flushed and hot against your palm.

“Scared, sweetheart?”

Here’s the thing: you know he’s talking about his dick. You’ve gotten that much. Beyond that, though, you really should be scared. This is a terrible idea. Catastrophically bad. You could lose your job. Your reputation. Your sanity.

And yet here you are, stroking him faster like it’s a religious calling.

Your legs fall open wider and Jungkook kisses you like he’s claiming his prize, mouth slanted over yours, tongue dragging.

The second he slides in, your soul flatlines.

There’s no warning. No buildup. Just the full, devastating stretch of him splitting you open like you’ve never been touched before. He sinks in with ease, your slick dragging down his length like your body knew him. Like it had been waiting.

And holy shit, he’s huge. Your head drops back, mouth open in a silent gasp as your nails dig into his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself against the full-body shock of being filled to the hilt. It’s overwhelming. It’s incredible. It’s so good it feels wrong.

Jungkook moans as he watches himself disappear inside you. His jaw clenches, inked fingers bruising your waist as your walls flutter around him, squeezing tight enough to knock the wind out of both of you.

“Fucking hell,” he hisses, forehead dropping against yours as his cock throbs inside you, helpless against the heat of your body.

His eyes snap up to yours, and without a word, his hand shoots up, wraps around your throat, and squeezes. “You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispers, “All full of my cock.”

Your nails scrape down his back, thighs trembling as he pulls back slightly, enough to make you beg.

Then, without another word, as if he’s decided he’s done holding back too, he slams into you.

And the sound that tears from your throat? It’s not human.

He pounds into you, deep and unrelenting, each thrust angled to wreck you a little more than the last. You cry out, your whole body rocking with the force of it, your breath cutting out as your walls clamp around him, fluttering like you can’t decide if you’re ready to take this or not.

Spoiler: you’re not.

His grip on your throat tightens, not enough to hurt, but to hold, to remind you who’s in charge here.

The slick, wet sounds of your bodies meeting echo through the room, mixing your breathy moans, with his low, guttural groans. Filthy. Loud. Absolutely not workplace appropriate.

Your cream coats his cock, slicking down to the base, messy and hot and humiliating.

“Where’s that fucking mouth now?” Jungkook snarls, breath ragged as he watches your head tip back in surrender. “What happened to all that attitude, huh?”

You try. You really do.

But all that comes out is a shattered moan, your lips parting around a gasp as your eyes flutter open, dazed and glassy.

“Nothing to say now?” he pants, his hold flexing around your throat, his hips snapping forward like punishment. “So fucking mouthy before… so bitchy.”

Your nails dig into his arm now, clutching anything to survive the relentless drag of his cock inside you. You’re soaking the table. You’re making a mess of yourself.

His other hand grips your thigh, pinning it wide, forcing you to take every inch of him, again and again and again.

You let out something between a gasp and a sob, a high, broken sound that is dragged from your throat as your muscles twitch with every devastating thrust. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

The drag of his cock inside you.

The pressure of his hand tightening around your throat.

The voice in your head screaming what the fuck are you doing while your body clings to him like it would rather die than let this end.

“You fucking love this, don’t you?” he taunts, eyes gleaming, lips cut in a grin so sharp it could slice you clean in half.

Your hands clutch at his wrist like you’re trying to stop him but the truth is more humiliating than that. You want more.

“Say it,” he growls, voice hoarse, wild, like he’s half a second away from breaking himself. “Say how bad you needed to get fucked like this.”

You literally can’t speak — and you wish he would understand this before asking you to say more things — but you try, lips parting, throat working around the words.

“Fucking thank me for this cock,” he snarls, each word a vicious command, each syllable punctuated by a brutal snap of his hips that knocks the breath from your lungs.

You’re gasping, moaning, barely holding onto coherence as he drives into you, stretching you so full it feels like your body is being taken apart from the inside.

“Th-thank you,” you whimper, the words stuttering out of you, barely a whisper. You hate how easily you say it, how naturally it slips from your tongue. At this point, you do mean it though. Because this isn’t just sex. It’s obliteration. It’s ego-shattering, soul-rearranging ruin, and you’re giving in with open arms.

Jungkook groans, his eyes squeezing shut for a second as your walls clench around him, squeezing so tight his rhythm falters, hips stuttering as a curse slips from his lips.

Then he’s moving again, faster, rougher, desperate in a way that makes your stomach flip. One hand drags down your stomach, the other grabs the collar of your blouse and rips. Buttons go flying. Fabric splits.

And suddenly you’re bare beneath him, chest heaving, breasts spilling out like a reward he’s been waiting to collect.

“Fucking hell,” he bites his lip ring, eyes darkening.

His palms are rough, fingers greedy. He grabs your breasts like he’s starved, squeezing, rolling your nipples between his thumbs until your back arches, your body chasing his touch.

He slams you flat onto your back, the cool glass of the conference table slapping against your skin like a punishment. The temperature sends a jolt through you, makes you arch up into him, makes your breath catch in your throat.

He doesn’t stop or give you a second to process. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open wide, and before you can regain your breathing patterns, he’s already hiking one leg up, hooking it over the thick band of muscle in his tattooed forearm. The shift tilts your hips and the second he thrusts back in, your entire nervous system stops working.

You scream. Not a cute sound. Not a porn sound. It’s raw.. It’s the kind of noise that rips out of you when someone hits a part of you you didn’t even know could feel.

“Holy fuck,” you sob, fingers clawing at the glass beneath you, nails skittering uselessly against the smooth surface. There’s nothing to hold onto. No leverage. Just the dizzying rhythm of his cock dragging in and out, in and out, too deep, too good, too much.

Jungkook groans low in his throat, head dropping, dark hair falling into his eyes as he watches himself disappear into you, thick and soaked in everything you’ve already given him. Your cream is everywhere.

“That’s it,” he grits out, his voice wrecked and strained, every muscle in his body flexed, straining with restraint. “That’s my girl.”

And all you can do is say the only thing left in your vocabulary.

“Thank you… thank you, Jungkook—” the words tumble out in gasping fragments, broken between moans, between thrusts, between the feeling of him absolutely ruining what little control you thought you had left.

“Yeah?” he pants, reaching up to grab your jaw, fingers pressing into your cheeks, forcing you to look at him even though your eyes are already half-rolled and glassy. “That’s all you can say now, huh?”

You nod, barely, because clearly speaking is no longer a skill you possess. And it makes him laugh as he pushes your leg higher, spreading you wider.

His rhythm snaps into something faster now, his hips slamming into yours with a pace that feels like it should knock the table off its legs. He’s so deep. So deep you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel.

God, he looks so good like this. Face flushed. Veins in his neck standing out. Tattoos flexing. Sweat dripping down his chest as his abs tighten with every brutal thrust. You want to kiss him. You want to claw at him. You want to cry.

“You were such a bitch to me,” he grits out, eyes locked on yours, voice pure venomous lust. “Thought you were untouchable.”

You would’ve snapped back. Any other time. Any other moment. But then he slams into you again, sharp and sudden, and the breath is knocked right out of your lungs, your hands flailing for anything.

“And now look at you,” he spits, voice dropping, almost fond in how cruel it is. “Just a pathetic little slut for my cock.”

This is exactly how you imagined it three nights ago. When you were alone in that hotel bed, hand between your thighs, chasing the memory of his voice, the feel of his breath on your skin. You pictured this exact stretch, this rhythm, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, or, well, into the conference table. Somehow, it’s better. It’s so much fucking better than anything your desperate, horny little brain had managed to conjure. Because of course he’s good at this. Of course he’s the kind of infuriating, smug fucker who can read your body like it’s his native language. Every thrust, every snap of his hips, every filthy word slipping past his lips feels custom-built to ruin you.

You whimper pathetically, your nails carving down the ridges of his forearms as your whole body trembles beneath him, too far gone to pretend you’re still in control. Your hips jerk up to meet every punishing thrust, desperate for more even as your brain screams that this is a bad idea, a terrible idea, that you should still have a shred of self-respect left.

You don’t, and it gets worse every time he opens his mouth.

Because of course his filthy, cruel little comments only make the fire in your gut burn hotter. Every time he mocks you, your core clenches like your body’s trying to wring the arrogance out of him.

“F-fuck you—” you manage to get out, voice wrecked and thin, but even you can hear the edge of a moan tangled in the syllables.

“Already doing that, sweetheart,” he pants, his grin stretched.

His thumb finds your clit, pressing hard, rubbing little circles that send lightning up your spine, and your back arches clean off the table like he’s shocked you straight out of your body.

“What’s wrong?” he taunts, like he’s not the one actively rearranging your internal organs. “Thought you were tough. Thought you could take it.”

His thrusts pick up speed, slamming into you with relentless force, his cock dragging over every hypersensitive spot inside you like he knows exactly where you’re about to break.

“You were so fucking loud earlier,” he grits out, eyes burning, “What happened to that mouth, baby?”

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear, hips slamming into yours like he’s trying to knock the voice back into you. “Use it,” he snarls. “Come on. Say something.”

But you can’t. You literally cannot form a single syllable. Your body is locking up, every muscle coiling tight as your release barrels toward you like a goddamn freight train. All that comes out is a high, ragged keening sound, your mouth hanging open, your nails scraping down his arms, your thighs quaking around his waist as he fucks you toward the edge.

He feels the way you start to squeeze him as if your body’s trying to pull him deeper, hold him in place, never let him go.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, voice cracking, eyes slamming shut as your body milks him. “F-fuck, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”

Your moans dissolve into pure nonsense, half-sobs, half-praise, all desperation, as the pressure builds unbearably.

And somewhere, in the scrambled static of your brain, one final thought surfaces: He’s going to ruin you for everyone else and you’re going to let him.

“Jungkook, fuck, please,” you gasp, voice so raw you barely recognize it as your own.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice gravel-rough, “This is what you fucking wanted, huh?”

Yes. Yes. This is exactly what you wanted, what you fantasized about with your fingers buried between your legs three nights ago while your rational brain screamed at you to stop.

His thumb drops to your clit again, pressing down hard, dragging tight, vicious circles that send electric shocks shooting up your spine. You cry out loudly, the sound ricocheting off glass walls that have seen way too much.

“You wanted me to fuck you like this,” he growls, teeth gritted as he watches the way your breasts bounce with every punishing thrust. “Wanted me to ruin you, didn’t you? Wanted to act like — fuck — a fucking brat just so I’d fuck you stupid.”

You’d deny it if you could, really. But he slams into you again and all that comes out is another broken moan as your nails carve into his arms, your brain gone static.

“Say it,” he snarls, hand gripping your face now, forcing your glassy eyes to meet his. “Fucking say it.”

“I—” you gasp, lips trembling. “I wanted it. Fuck, I wanted your cock so fucking bad.”

That’s what breaks him. Jungkook lets out the filthiest groan you’ve ever heard from a man as his whole body locks up for a moment, abs tightening, hips faltering like he’s trying not to lose it right then and there.

“F-fuck, baby,” he grits out, every muscle straining, “Be a good girl, come on. Cum for me.”

God, you do.

Your body shatters, legs locking around his waist, your release crashing over you so hard you forget your own name. You sob as your walls tighten around him, trying to drag him under with you.

“Oh my fucking god,” you cry, because there’s no other vernacular for what this is. Every nerve-ending is on fire, your skin tingling, your mind white-noise and wreckage.

Jungkook groans like it’s being torn from somewhere inside his chest and you feel his cock twitch, his rhythm faltering.

“F-fuck, fuck, baby,” Jungkook pants, his whole body jerking with the effort of holding back. You feel the twitch of him inside you and then suddenly he’s pulling out, just in time, hand flying to his cock as his other arm braces above you.

“Shit, oh, god [Y/N],” he groans. His brows knit together, eyes slamming shut as his release hits him hard, stroking himself feverishly as hot, slick ropes of cum spill across your stomach.

His thighs tremble, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it hurts, strokes growing slower as he rides it out.

He’s so fucking pretty while he does it, like offensively pretty.

Like who the hell gave him permission to look like that while literally unraveling over you? Chest flushed, skin glowing, lips parted just enough to show his teeth as he groans your name like it’s the only word left in his vocabulary. His sweat-slick hair falls into his eyes and you hate him for being this hot, for wrecking you and somehow looking like that while doing it.

You don’t know if it’s the orgasm or the emotional damage but your brain stops working a little.

Jesus Christ. You need therapy. Or an exorcism. Both at the same time probably.

For a second, the room is just breathing. Yours and his, probably fogging up the glass.

Jungkook finally exhales and when he looks down and sees the wreckage — you, splayed out and trembling, his cum smeared across your stomach like a signature — he grins.

“Such a fucking mess,” he notes, tone hoarse as his fingers swipe through the creamy trail across your stomach and smears it like an artist admiring his work.

Your body twitches again, a soft aftershock rippling through you, and he notices. His eyes drop to your still-quivering thighs, the way your breath catches, the way you’re still coming down like he’s rewired you from the inside out.

His tongue swipes over his lip ring. He tilts his head like he’s deciding whether to keep going or let you recover. Either way, you’re doomed.

Instead, he settles on, “You really should thank me for this one too, baby.”

And all you can do is lie there, half-naked on a conference table, covered in cum, dignity somewhere on the floor next to your ripped panties, and wonder how the fuck this became your life.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @lovingkoalaface @maybetheproblemisme @mimi1097 @mar-lo-pap @mysjammy @yooniepot @tinytan-gerine @ashslight @sky-23s-world @myzzysstuff @elinaki92 @7fever @munchkin-kitty7-blog @uarmygguk @jjkluver7 @coletaehyung @jkxlvrr @amarawayne @kooslilhoe @bangchanwantsmesobad @kpopslur @senaqsstuff @sugakookies77 @tteokbokibyjk @emmie2308 @neurospicynugget @prxdajeon @majesticjung-97 @jksusawife @rkivesarchive @hyunjinswifetingzz @bjoriis @nan4rf @parkinglot-nights @travelgurrl @softhaes @bexxs

[followingthebutterflies7]

Caught in 4K

Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: Your secret crush on Spencer Agnew gets exposed during a Smosh video when your TikTok likes, aka a shrine of thirst edits, are broadcast to the whole cast.

Warnings: Mild language, secondhand embarrassment, mutual pining

Disclaimer: This fic was inspired by a concept originally posted by @franklyspencer and brought to them by @illpunchyouintheface . Huge thanks to both of them for the brilliant idea!

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The Smosh studios always had a pulse to it. Somewhere between organized chaos, infectious laughter, and sibling-like rivalries, it was alive. And you loved it. Further inside the set was buzzing as everyone prepared for a brand new shoot. Camera lights were warming up, someone was yelling for cast members to get in their chairs, and laughter echoed in from the breakroom.

You adjusted your mic pack, settling onto your chair in between Angela and Arasha. You were filming a brand new video that had been Courtney’s idea, “We Go Through Each Other’s TikToks.” The set up was similar to Beopardy, Shanye would be hosting but instead of presenting questions from a whiteboard, he would be presenting your TikTok accounts by screensharing them on a TV for everyone to see.

Despite the new format, you weren’t that nervous. You knew how to get through a video like this. Start with some banter, then light roasting, allow for some embarrassing moments, and overreact for a thumbnail, but today you had one very specific reason to be nervous.

Spencer Agnew.

He wasn’t filming this one, but you’d seen him walking around the office earlier, half-laughing at something Damien had said, his hoodie pushed up to his elbows and his hair doing that fluffy thing. Your stomach had done a very unnecessary little flip. You’d had a crush on him since practically your first week at Smosh years ago. Spencer was funny, charming in that awkward, goofy way, and he was effortlessly cool when he wasn’t trying to be. It was criminal how hot he was to you, really.

You liked Spencer so much. Stupidly, painfully liked him.

And you’d been sure you were hiding it well—until you remembered your TikTok likes. The ones filled with Spencer edits. Each and every single edit you had sent to Courtney. You hadn’t thought about it before agreeing to this video. Rookie mistake.

“All good to roll?” Courtney called from behind the camera. They were directing today, headset slightly askew and clipboard in hand. A smirk slowly crept onto their face.

“Yep!” Shayne said, as he started collecting Angela’s and Arasha’s phones. “Let’s ruin each other’s lives.”

Angela laughed. “Again.”

You forced a smile, tugging your phone out of your back pocket and placing it into Shayne’s open hand. This was fine. It would probably be fine.

---

Twenty minutes in, and it was going... actually pretty great.

Arasha’s liked videos were full of hilarious POV videos and cool aesthetics. Angela had a suspicious number of raccoon videos. You had dodged a bullet by making sure the list of who you followed was clean, but did get made fun of for following a couple slime making accounts. You had thought you were in the clear.

Then Shayne raised an eyebrow. “Okay, now for the real dirt! Let’s look through your liked videos.”

You stiffened. “Wait, mine?”

Arasha grinned. “You’ve been suspiciously calm. Time to investigate.”

“No no no, wait, maybe we skip me-” You laughed, a little too loud, a little too fake.

Too late.

With your phone screen being shared to the TV, Shanye clicked onto your profile and then to your liked videos, which you had on private for a reason.

The first video was a Spencer edit. It was loud and fast, with flashing lights and Limp Bizkit music blaring as clips of Spencer Agnew flew across the screen. The caption mirrored the music lyrics as it read: “bitches love me.”

The room erupted.

Shayne wheezed and doubled over in shocked laughter. “NO WAY.”

Angela screamed, her mouth dropping. “You’re KIDDING.”

Arasha completely froze, unsure of what she was actually seeing. “That’s Spencer! Right?”

You placed your face in your hands, desperately trying to hide the blush that was furiously creeping across your face.

“Can we just go to the next one, please?” You begged. A mistake.

The second video showed clips of Spencer in his college short films. Slower clips of him in a button down shirt, walking down the street, or having blood dripping down his face scrolled across the TV with an Ariana Grande song playing.

More screaming from the room. Shayne scrolled again.

The third video confirmed what everyone had been thinking. It had clips of Spencer doing various activities, but cut in a way that made them suggestive. He was leaning, pushing up his sleeves, running his fingers through his hair, and making out with a mannequin. And the song choice, it spoke for itself.

You so crazy, I think I wanna have your baby

What a man, what a man, what a man

What a mighty good man, yes he is

Your soul left your body. You couldn’t look anymore. “I forgot those were in there! I was just mindlessly scrolling!” You desperately tried to save yourself.

“You have like ten of them in a row!” Shayne barked, scrolling further and further down. “There’s one where he’s just dressed up as John D. Bad, The Chosen, Gentleman Spencer, and Fred Darts as a thirst trap!”

“Oh no,” you whined. “Can we cut all this, please?” You turned to look directly into the cameras to plead. You knew it was no use. This was perfect content.

Courtney peeked around the camera, eyes sparkling. “So… when’s the wedding?” You just stared at them in disbelief, then, all the puzzle pieces fit into place.

“Stop! No!” You looked around for something to throw at them, but came up short. “You did this!” Courtney just giggled.

“I sent those to you in confidence, Court! Judas!” You hissed at them and everyone just laughed harder. “They’re just cool edits!”

Angela leaned toward you, absolutely beaming. “You have a crush on Spencer.”

“I do not—!”

“You do!” Arasha piped up. “And we’ve all known for ages”

Your jaw dropped. “What?!”

Courtney nodded, deadpan. “We have bets on it.”

“You have BETS?!”

Cue more laughter. Shayne was wheezing, Angela had tears in her eyes, Arasha was doubled over, Courtney just grinned evilly. You sunk down into your chair, wishing you could evaporate.

What you didn’t see among the chaos was Spencer. He was standing off-camera, holding his water bottle full of Kickstart and frozen in place like someone had hit pause on his whole body. He’d wandered in halfway through the shoot, sick of working at his desk and in need of a break, and stayed when he heard your voice. Then the edits appeared. His edits. On your account.

And the way you panicked. How red your cheeks went. How your voice cracked when you tried to deny it. He couldn’t believe it.

You liked him?

You liked him.

It was like a light switched on in his head. The lingering eye contact, the way you always laughed a little too hard at his dumbest jokes, how you knew his drink order. This whole time, it wasn’t just him pining.

You were pining too.

---

Later, once the shoot wrapped, you lingered behind while the others filtered out. Courtney was still teasing you under their breath and apologizing for the set up at the same time. Angela gave you the most dramatic wink of your life. You were still sitting in your chair and just staring at your phone, contemplating deleting your entire TikTok history, when someone cleared their throat.

“Hey.”

You looked up and there he was.

Spencer. Hoodie sleeves still pushed up, hair still a little messy, and now an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Oh no,” you said, half-laughing. “You saw all that, didn’t you?”

“I… yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I wasn’t trying to, I just walked in.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m so embarrassed. Spencer, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said quickly. “I think it was… actually really sweet.”

You peeked through your fingers. “Seriously?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah... And… I know something that might make you feel better.”

You tilted your head.

“I’ve been liking your edits too.” Spencer confessed, fidgeting a bit as he spoke. “I mean, like fan edits of you. There are a few. Some are really good, actually. But I like them too, if you know what I mean.”

You stared. “Wait, you like me?”

He smiled, almost shy. “Kind of a lot.”

You blinked. “We’re idiots.”

“The dumbest,” he agreed.

There was a long pause. Comfortable, now. His eyes searched yours, soft and curious.

“So,” he said, “now that we’ve both been caught in 4K…”

You grinned. “Wanna get dinner sometime?”

He nodded. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[headdinthewall]

SURPRISING GREETING ──  g.clarke  ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : you and george had been friends for a while, albeit mutual due to arthur hill, and being on INSIDE only seems to strengthen your bond. a/n : i did say that i would be willing to turn this into a series and someone requested it be a full series rather than a few odd chapters here and there, so bare with me while i edit the ones i already have uploaded & maybe take them down ALSO pink text = an interview in room 19 content : friends to lovers ,, reader is described to be very feminine & girly (sorry if you don’t like that ): )

─────── IT WAS DEEPLY unusual for you to be involved in a reality tv show where your screen time and presence on set was determined by your personality and like-ability. Being a social media influencer and ex-dancer, you’d faced enough criticism in your life, but now you were getting in face-to-face.

You stood in the elevator, clutching the handle of your light pink suitcase tightly, fingers fidgeting along it and looking around at the bright white rectangular box you found yourself.

“Really making me feel comfortable here guys, like I’m in solitary confinement.” You muttered.

“Hi, my name is reader, I’m 23, and I’m a social media influencer and ex-dancer, I can also sing too, but that’s like . . . back up content I post.” You laughed at your awkward addition.”

Once the elevator doors opened, you stepped into an airport security-esque room. You walked through the metal detectors and flinched as it beeped.

“Yeah, don’t mind me, entering INSIDE with illegal contraband.” You joked poorly, grunting as you lifted your ridiculously heavy luggage onto the conveyor belt.

“I think I’ll be okay about money spending, hopefully anyway. When I do buy things it’s usually impulsively and because I like the look of it … That doesn’t really bode well, does it? I think the main thing for me to get out of this is the experience of … not relying on my phone to do things and reminding myself that although my phone has everything on it, it’s not my entire life. Also I like the idea of doing weird challenges.”

Your white and grey New Balance 550’s shuffled along the floor, the tops of them covered by your flared grey joggers. You pulled the neckline of your baby pink tube top up, nervously running your fingers along it as you heard people already conversing.

“Hello …?” You called out, peeking your head around the corner.

“Oh my God, new person!” A curly haired girl exclaimed loudly as everyone stood up from around the marble table.

“Hi!” You grinned, waving as everyone suddenly surrounded you.

“Oh, you’re gorgeous! I’m Mandi, what’s your name?”

“My name’s reader,I love how you do your makeup!” You complimented her back.

“I follow you on TikTok!” A blonde girl in a coral tracksuit exclaimed, holding your wrist, “Reader, right?!”

“Yeah.” You chuckled.

“Oh my God, I’m Milli, I used to watch all your old dance videos wishing I was you!” Milli said excitedly and you laughed at that.

“You were a dancer?” A dark-skinned girl asked, hugging you in greeting after Milli stepped away.

“Yeah, until I was like 17.” You answered.

“Oh, that’s so cool, I’m Whitney.”

“Nice to meet you.” You smiled.

“Your nails are so cute, wait—!” She exclaimed, holding your hand in hers as she examined the cute acrylics you had done two days ago, “They’re like so different to mine, we can be like opposite besties, ennit?!”

“Yeah, yeah, one hundred percent.” You nodded before moving on to greeting everyone else.

All the girls were really sweet and happy to see you, as you introduced yourself to Farah, Cinna and Mya as well. The guys also seemed really nice but you didn’t get much time to say anything to them as your eyes landed on a familiar face you definitely didn’t think you’d find here.

“Oh my God, George!” You gasped, hugging him tightly. “You didn’t tell me you were coming on here!”

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me either, that’s kind of the whole point.” George poked fun, wrapping his arms around your waist and gently lifting you off the ground in his embrace.

“Oh, it’s quite nice to see a familiar face, I was expecting to have to introduce myself to ten people.” You laughed, pulling away after a while.

You and George had been mutual friends on Instagram for about five years now, but only met two of those ago due to being invited to a Sidemen shoot.

You got semi-close to him, becoming one of his closer friends and spending a lot of time at his apartment — but that was also credited to you and Arthur Hill being thick as thieves since day one.

“Wait, you guys know each other?” Cinna asked, her finger moving between you two.

“Yeah, we’re friends.” You answered, your body still standing instinctively close to him. “For a while now, actually.”

“Ah, that gives you an advantage already.” PK hummed, rubbing his chin, “Lucky, y’know.”

“Everyone seems to be really nice and welcoming, and I’m hoping that they’re not just putting an act up and being fake to win because … mmmm, actually I guess that’s quite strategic. Anyway, yeah, everyone’s…” You held your thumbs up, “Also, it’s nice to see George again.”

After everyone got acquainted with you, the group wandered off to explore the areas, including the bedroom situation, which consisted of eight single beds and two double beds.

People immediately began claiming their beds and sitting on the mattresses, trying to get used to the new surroundings.

“They must’ve spent all their budget on the set, because these mattresses are not it.” You commented, trying to show how not bouncy it was by bouncing on it on your knees.

“No, guys, stop trying to take my bed!” George fake-whined, sprawling himself out on the surface.

You and Dylan laughed at his slight dig towards the girls who were being overly picky with where they laid.

You just chose the bed in the tightest corner so that you couldn’t accidentally roll off in the middle of the night.

You tended to be a fidgety sleeper.

Once you all were content with where you were situated, you returned to the living room and gathered on the sofa to talk about yourselves in more detail.

“So you used to dance?” PK asked as he sat on the other side of the couch, you sandwiched between George and Mandi.

“Yeah, from, like, 2 to 17.” You nodded, smiling as you spoke. “I quit ‘coz I got bored, really. My teacher knew what I was best at and just kept giving me the same choreography to do so I would win trophies and it would look good for her.”

“Well, at least you were getting wins and that.” PK said, arm resting back on the sofa.

“How do you two know each other then? What’s that about?” Mandi spoke loudly, looking at you and George.

“Well, we have a mutual friend, Arthur Hill, don’t know if you’ve ever heard of him—“

“No, never.”

“Oh, the singer?” Cinna piped up, nodding.

“Yeah, so him and George are friends and I’ve been friends with him since I was … 12?”

“Wow, that’s bare time, y’know.” PK huffed.

“Yeah, so we sort of met through him on Instagram at first, and then the Sidemen invited us both to the same shoot, so we met in person. But then, ‘coz I was friends with Arthur and George lives with him, I ended up spending more time at theirs, and … yeah, that’s it, basically.” You summarised quickly.

“And the music video.” George scratched his eyebrow with his thumb.

“Oh, yeah, we were both in Arthur’s music video, too.” You added with a slight blush, the memories of that filming time filling your mind.

“Oh, no way!” Dylan gasped, “That’s awesome, what song?”

“Too Much Ain’t Enough.” George answered. “It was … an experience to say the least, it wasn’t supposed to be me, but the guy literally dropped out a day before, so I had to fill in. Nightmare working with this one.”

He nudged your side and you feigned offence, clutching your chest.

“So, you’re an actor too? Mad, you’re like a double threat.” PK said.

“She sings too, so make that triple.” George bragged for you.

“Yeah, cheers.” You sighed, crossing your arms over your stomach as you leaned your elbows on your knees.

“You sing too?!” Mya sat up straight, shocked by the information.

“Can you give us a little taster?” Farah pleaded.

“No, absolutely not, not unless it’s for a challenge.” You shook your head, laughing.

“So how did you get big?” Whitney asked George specifically.

“Am I?” George frowned, patting his stomach.

“Not like that! Like on social media.” Whitney rolled her eyes.

He laughed, successfully pranking her, “I started on TikTok, um …”

“Do you talk on TikTok?”

“Yeah—“

“Why don’t you talk in real life?”

“— Should I stop?” He joked, making you and Farah laugh.

“But you don’t talk in real life.” Whitney repeated, “I’m like, ‘George’?”

You laughed slightly at his awkward chuckle in response, nudging his shin with your foot, to which he returns the gesture.

There was a silent, telepathically conversed agreement that you and George would stick by each other no matter what, no matter how much the money went down or how tough the challenges got or how much other people tried to pit you against each other.

“Hello …” Toby said slyly as he, and the rest of the Sidemen, rounded the corner into the living area.

“Hello, everyone!” Simon greeted.

Everyone started getting really excited, making funny noises and exclaiming oddly. You saw George visibly relax at the sight of some familiar faces and you smiled softly at his reaction.

“Welcome, to a new series of Inside.” KSI introduced, hands out. The group whooped and cheered, clapping. “You will all be battling it out, for a prize fund that starts out at £1 million.”

“Yep, cheers mate, didn’t know that.” You quipped sarcastically, causing a good portion of chuckles.

The cheers were less enthusiastic but still energetic.

“You’re snarky and I don’t like that.” He scoffed, so in response you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Is that not enough for you guys?”

“They already knew.” Simon tapped his friends shoulder.

“There are going to be challenges that you will all be in every single day.” Vikk spoke, resulting in a few groans, “If you do badly in these challenges, you will lose money from the million-pound prize pot. So just don’t do badly, alright?”

“And as you can see, there’s not much in here because everything costs money.” Harry spoke up, adding his usual dramatic flare of finger waggling and poor posture, which Farah mocked. “But you’ll be glad to know—“ Everyone laughed at the mocking. “You’ll be glad to know, the shop is now open.”

A loud eruption of cheers happened, as KSI said, “Good luck, motherfuckers!”

“What a lovely way to speak to your contestants.” You mumbled.

“Wait, can I ask? When is the first challenge?” Farah put in before the Sidemen could leave.

But it proved pointless as the only response she got was from KSI, in which he stated: “Shut up.”

“Rude boy!” Farah shouted, eyes wide, “What you call this timing?! We were supposed to be collected at 10 AM, brother!”

“We’re not spending any money!” Mandi yelled as you all rose to your feet.

“Let’s go to the shop.” Farah said at the same time.

Quite the juxtaposition of sentences there.

You knew Mandi’s statement of no one spending any money would last approximately … five minutes, especially as you all moved to congregate in the shop area now.

“Let’s try and keep it at half a million, bro.” Farah offered.

This followed in a long winded debate as to what the goal amount of prize fund to have at the end would be. All hands were placed in the middle as you cheered for £800,000.

You shook your head at their naivety and George snorted, noticing your expression and placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to follow everyone as they viewed the shop items.

When you walked into the small room, you took note of the variety of items on show … in words.

“Oh my God, I’m not spending any money!” You cheered, turning around and giving George a solid high-five.

“What? How do you know already?” Dylan asked.

“She has this thing where, as long as the item isn’t physically presented in front of her, she’s not tempted by it.” George explained for you and you nodded in agreement with his words.

“That’s so weird, oh my God!” Mandi gasped, “How? Do you not even like … hear something you might like and think ‘Hm, yeah, I like the sound of that’.”

“Not really, not unless I 100% know what I’m getting, like …” Your eyes scanned the menu and you pointed to the item listed as a ‘golden straw’, “I don’t know what that is. For $2500? It could be anything. Knowing these guys, it’s most definitely just a normal straw painted gold and they’ve thrown it in to make us second guess ourselves. But I’m not tempted because I don’t know and don’t care.”

“That’s crazy, I wish I was like that.” Mya laughed, hand grazing your arm slightly.

“It’s a blessing in disguise.” You shrugged smugly, feigning nonchalance.

As a group, you all decided to purchase a table tennis bat and ball for £2,000, and upon finding out it was only one bat, Milli purchased another.

“I think we should get some snacks.” Whitney proposed.

“Yes, but in groups of two, so whatever you order you share with someone else to save money.” Farah pointed her finger.

“Do you want anything?” Milli asked you, “To share something?”

Your eyes scanned the menu and you shook your head, not entirely thrilled or enticed by the snack option, “Nah, but if you want to buy something I can share with you.”

Milli whined, “Ugh, okay.”

You laughed and squeezed her arm.

You looked back at George, who seemingly shared the same unimpressed demeanour about the menu variety, and took his hand, slipping back into the living room with the table tennis bats and ball.

“I don’t think our promise of 800K will last a week at all. I don’t even think it’ll last a day.” You laughed, “It’s just … everyone says ‘Oh, I won’t spend, I won’t spend’ but they’re already buying unnecessary shit that we don’t need. Like … we do get fed here, y’know that, right? It might not be the best, but I’m sure you can live on … rice and beans, or whatever the fuck they give us, for a week.”

“Whitney, would you share a pot noodle with me?” Milli shuffled into the corridor.

“The thing is, I don’t like pot noodle.” Whitney replied.

“Oh. Reader?”

“Sure, if you’re getting it.” You hummed, biting your bottom lip as you focused on smacking the ping pong ball at George.

After losing the game, you gave up in a fake strop and plopped yourself down in the bend of the couch, and George annoyingly sat next to you.

He slung an arm around your shoulders as you spoke with Dylan and Mandi.

“It’s great that we’re all on the same page, I think.” The TikTok news reporter expressed his opinions.

“It could be somebody else walking away with that 500 grand.” Mandi countered.

“Think about how great your life is outside of this. You only get one week to be put in deprivation, to be hungry, to not be on your phone—“

“For somebody else to win?” She sassed.

“Well, you’re not doing it for that. You’re doing it for the experience of, like, when are you ever gonna have deprivation, like, again? You may never.” Dylan philosophised.

“We had COVID. That’s enough deprivation for me, alright?” Mandi threw her arms out.

“Also, if you think about it. This isn’t really deprivation.” You hummed, looking over the back of the sofa at them, “We have light (natural and electric), semi-descent beds, other people to talk to, and food. Plus, we’re given the option to buy things to keep us entertained. If you want to experience deprivation, you should try solitary confinement or a high risk psych ward.”

After a short while of continuing this vaguely theological conversation, a ruckus began and Farah came into the room, exclaiming that: “PK is not to be trusted! He hid the pot noodle behind the sofa, and I sniffed it out.”

“I tried to order more guys, and then they closed the shop.” Whitney sighed.

“And if we do shit, we need to deliberate with each other.”

As everyone else congregated in the living area, discussing the non-issue, the TV chimed with a notification.

‘Lunch is now ready in the shop.’

There was a mixed variety of reactions, majority being optimistic and jovial, whereas George opted for a fed up approach. “You’re taking the piss. Lunch?”

“C’mon, grumpy bollocks, get up.” You heaved him up off the couch.

“What time is it?” He continued to complain, “Should be dinner.”

“Well, it’s not!”

By the time you’d arrived in the shop, it was already in a shambles, with people spending money on me an upgraded and an endless supply of moaning coming from Mandi and Farrah.

“This is fine.” Cinna shook her head as she ate the rice and beans.

“It’s rice and beans?!” You exclaimed, diving for a pot and opening it with a laugh. “I called it! I called it in Room 19, that they’d be giving us rice and beans!”

“Nah, you defo jinxed it, y’know.” Whitney groaned, cringing at the tastes in her mouth.

You screamed as George flicked a spoonful of rice at you, causing grains to get stuck in your hair.

“George, fuck off!” You cursed, hitting him with a closed fist and glaring.

You shimmied off out of the shop and took a seat on one of the bean bags, preferring to eat your food sat down. George followed you, taking the bean bag and putting it plonk next to yours, sitting and entangling your legs together.

His foot kept sliding up your leg, purposefully pushing your flared leggings up to annoy you.

“Would you give it a rest.” You growled with fake animosity, shoving the cloth back down to cover your shin.

He cackled and shoved a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Guys, there’s food in there that was uneaten.” Cinna announced, coming back in with her arms full of containers. “And, who bought this?” She held up the golden straw.

“Can I have it? I don’t care who bought it.” Whitney reached for it and Cinna gave it.

“It was you, ennit?” She accused, looking at you, “Saying it don’t tempt you and then you bought it for yourself. Clever play.”

“What, no?!” You exclaimed, covering your hand with your mouth as you ate.

“I can— I can confirm,” George held his hand up, “She was with me the whole time and didn’t buy that.”

“Thank you.”

“Was it you?” Cinna walked towards Mandi, laughing and grazing her shoulder, “It was— It was you, wasn’t it?”

“I swear it wasn’t.” Mandi said smugly, not even trying to hide the smirk on her face.

You laughed, slapping your knee, “Your face! There’s no way it isn’t you!”

“Someone did it though!” PK argued, pacing the floor.

“It was me!” Mandi admitted, standing up and flapping her arms about.

“Was it? Was it actually you?” Milli asked.

“Yeah.” She shrugged.

“And you … nobody had any idea.” George joked sarcastically and you laughed, leaning into him.

“I wanted the straw.” Mandi defended, shrugging like it didn’t matter, because it really wasn’t that deep.

£2,500 of £1,000,000 wasn’t that much at all, but it was the knowledge that every dollar spent would eventually add up that irked the group.

“Why?” Jason questioned in a whiney voice.

“I wanna drink my coffee with it, so I don’t damage my teeth.”

“Babe, I wanted to use it first!” Whitney complained, looking upset.

“We can share!” Mandi took the straw from Jason and put it on the table.

“If any one wants to buy and food from the shop — even if it’s just for yourself — it’s fine, just tell everyone.” Farah reasoned as everyone settled.

“Who’s good at math? Should we have a calculator?” Whitney put forward.

George scoffed and gestured to you, resulting in a harsh glare.

“Reader! Reader! She’s excellent at maths!” He said dramatically.

“Are you actually?” Cinna hummed, arms wrapped around her knees.

You shook your head rapidly, “No, dude, I got a C. I barely passed.”

“Hello, Insiders …” The voice of Tobi rang through the speakers, “It’s time for your first challenge.”

Everyone screamed in excitement, getting up and enthusiastically moving to leave towards the Challenge Arena as instructed. The corridor was grey stone, as was the rest of the set, with purple and dark blue lights shining from underneath it.

You had to credit the Sidemen, it was clear a lot of thought and money had gone into making this a real thing, and now you were living it.

“No pressure, yeah?” George muttered to you, a personal whisper that he shared with no one else as you waited outside the Challenge Arena doors.

“Yeah. Sure.” You nodded, blushing slightly at the close proximity of his mouth to your ear. “No pressure, at all.”

[minarisplaything]

I Know What You Want ft. Wonyoung

premise: Inspired by those "your birth month is your ex gf and your current gf" slideshows on tiktok. Might do more of these because they are light and fun.  

pairing: Wonyoung x Male Reader content warning/kinks: cheating, daddy kink, anal a/n: happy sunday, always lube up properly o7 audio version (note: audio version is without daddy kink bc i got too lazy to edit around it) wc: 2.4k

"Isn't she a little old for you?" Wonyoung asked, a hint of annoyance in her tone. 

"You sound jealous." 

She shrugged. "I'm not jealous. I just didn't realize Sunmi-sunbaenim was into robbing the cradle." 

"I'm twenty-one," you pointed out. Surely grown enough to make your own decisions on who you dated.  

"She's thirty-two," Wonyoung countered. 

You let out an annoyed sigh, "I'm not doing this with you today, Wonyoung. Why did you want to meet?" 

Wonyoung bristled at your directness, her posture straightening as she scoffed. "You start fucking some hag and you start acting brand new around me." 

"Some hag? Really? Wasn't it you who kept saying how much you adored Sunmi-sunbaenim?" 

"That was before she took what was mine."  

You let out a bark of dry laughter. "I'm not yours. I don't belong to you, Wonyoung." 

A healthy response would have been to accept the setting of boundaries and acknowledge their mistake. Which naturally meant that Wonyoung took your words as a challenge.  

"Is that right?" she asked, taking a step towards you. "You belong to her now, huh?" 

"That's right." Which wasn't exactly true. You didn't think you belonged to anyone but something about the entitlement she was acting with made you respond out of indignation.  

What you didn't expect was for her hand to reach out, manicured fingers sliding down to grasp your crotch. "Then why do I still get you hard?"  

"Wonyoung -- "  

A thin eyebrow arched itself, the picture of arrogance. "Are you going to deny it?" 

"Your delusional."  

"Am I?" She began to massage your cock over your clothing, and despite your protest, your cock was all too eager to respond to her familiar touch. "Are you telling me if I bent over right now you wouldn't fuck me against this wall?" 

God you hated her. Or at least you should. The reality was that despite your separation. Despite the toxicity that had existed in your relationship. Despite being in a happy relationship now. There would always be a part of you that was weak to her. To both her advances and her behavior. 

As if sensing your wavering disposition, her touch became heavier. "I'm not wearing any panties under this skirt," she said her tone taking on an innocent air. "Just the way Daddy likes." 

That was all it took.  

It was pathetically easy in the end for Wonyoung to get you to snap. Though, if anyone was going to be capable of it, it was going to be her. She knew you too well, for better and for worse. In fact, you wouldn't be surprised if her whole look today; the mid-thigh length skirt, the cropped blouse that was a size too small and hugged her frame as a result. She even let her hair down today so it'd be easy for you to grab it. Combine that with her lack of underwear and calling you daddy and, well, you never stood a chance.  

You surged forward, gripping Wonyoung's shoulders and spinning her to face the wall. She lead out a delighted fit of laughter as she arched her back, pressing her ass against your groin. Your hands moved to your buckle, shoving down your pants to free your cock from its denim cage. 

"I can't stand you, you know that?" 

Wonyoung giggled as she tossed you a look over her shoulder, "Whatever you say, Daddy." 

With cock in hand you used the other to shove her skirt up, revealing that she had spoken true in her words. You could see her bare pussy, practically begging for you. You bit your bottom lip, hating that the thought of missing this crossed your mind. "You were waiting for this weren't you?" 

"Can you tell?" Wonyoung smiled wickedly, "Can't you see how wet I am for you?" 

You could. And if you needed any further confirmation you ran your cock between her legs, coating it in her arousal. You had to stop yourself from delving into any further foreplay. This was just a one-time fuck to get it out of your system. At least that was what you told yourself. But as you slipped the tip of your cock into her and began to thrust forward, you were reminded of why it had been so hard to quit Wonyoung in the first place. 

"Oh fuck yes, Daddy," Wonyoung said, her back arching further. "You feel how you're stretching my tight pussy? You haven't felt that in a while have you?" 

You bit back the urge to tell Wonyoung that wasn't how that worked. Now wasn't the time for a biology lesson nor defending your girlfriend's honor. Instead you focused on stuffing her inch by inch, watching as her pussy swallowed more and more of you until you were pressed flush against her ass. 

"Oh, fuck," you groaned out, your head falling forward slightly.  

"It feels good doesn't it? It's perfect," Wonyoung cooed. "We're perfect." 

Your brow furrowed slightly. "Don't think I'm won over that easily." 

Refusing to give into the sentiment that she was suggesting you slipped your cock out of her before stuffing her again and again. You repeated the process, each time going a bit hard, a bit faster while making sure she felt every inch of your cock. The truth was it was fucking heavenly. Sex had never been the reason your relationship fell apart. And even now months later it was like returning to something familiar. Despite yourself you wanted to enjoy this, for however long it lasted. 

Your fingers moved to tangle in her dark, wavy locks, pulling her head back as her lithe body shook with your rough thrusts.  

"You like that, Wony? This is what you wanted right?" You taunted, giving into the moment as you seized back control.  

"Yes!"  

"You couldn't find anyone else to fuck you this good could you?"  

"Noo," she moaned. 

You tugged on her hair roughly, "No, what?" 

"No one fucks me this good, Daddy!"  Wonyoung cried out. 

You rewarded her diligent response with a spank on her fit ass.  

"Mmmfph!" She moaned, biting her bottom lip as you continued to fuck her roughly. You could feel her walls tightening around you, her juices already dripping around your cock each time you pulled out of her. The telltale signs that her first orgasm was on the horizon were there for you to see. The way her cheeks flushed, the way her mouth hung upon as she did her best to hold herself against the wall. All she needed was for you to push her over the brink.  

"Are you going to come for me? Come for daddy," you whispered against her the shell of her ear as you stuffed her. 

"F-fuck! I'm coming!" Wonyoung cried out, not even bothering with trying to contain her moans of pleasure. The look on her face was pure ecstasy and you found it was a look that, despite having near memorized it, it was one you missed. 

Her walls tightened around your length as her orgasm shook her body. You were relentless, continuing to fuck the top idol through her climax. One arm slipped around her waist should her legs go weak on her. By the time it was all over she had leaned forward, her face pressed against the wall, her eyes slightly glazed over as her body rocked with your slower thrusts.  

  As you looked at her perfect ass still pointed out to you, an idea popped into your head. 

"Don't move" you instructed her, though you weren't sure if she comprehended you. 

You slipped your cock out of her, ignoring the lazy "Hey..." That came from Wonyoung at your action. You were still achingly hard and now thoroughly coated in her juices. That would come in handy soon enough. You got down on your knees, spreading her firm cheeks. Her pussy lips were swollen from your rough fucking but that wasn't your target, instead your tongue was probing her asshole, much to Wonyoung's surprise. 

"W-what are you doing," she asked, the intrusion bringing her some of her senses back. Still, she made no move to stop you.  

Her inaction only emboldened her as your tongue worked her backdoor. In all the months the two of you had spent together. In all the spontaneous sessions that broke out between you whether it was loving or after a fight, this was the one hole that Wonyoung had never let you claim. In fact, she had been adamant about it every time you even mentioned it. But you had a plan for that now. When you were satisfied you withdrew your tongue and moved to test her hole with your index finger. 

"Really, what are you up to back there?" Wonyoung said, letting out a shaky breath. 

"Ssh, just relax," you instructed her. 

"You – fuck – you know that's off-limits," she returned. 

Now was your trump card.  

"Sunmi let me fuck her ass." 

A poignant pause hung in the air. It was as if Wonyoung was considering what you had just said. Though, given her actions thus far, you had a feeling you already knew her mind was made up. Wonyoung wasn't nearly as cut-throat as some made her out to be but she wasn't someone who took kindly to coming in second place. Least of all when it came to you. 

"Make sure you don't go to hard" she finally said. "And you better soak your cock, I'm not some stretched out hag." 

"Unnecessary," you chided her. Still, she was right on one point. You returned your tongue to her asshole, preparing it the best you could before moving back to your feet. Your cock slipped inside of Wonyoung again, giving her a few rough thrusts before pulling out and applying some more natural lubrication of your own as you spit on your cock. Finally you were ready. Well, as ready as you could be. Mostly your cock was just aching at the thought of finally being inside Wonyoung's ass.  

You positioned your tip at her entrance, gently beginning to push the head forward. "Remember to relax," you said, a hand on her lower back. 

"Oh, fuck," Wonyoung swore, her cheek pressed against the wall. "You're too fucking big." 

  "I thought you liked that," you taunted her. 

"Shut up," she groaned.  

You couldn't help but chuckle. There was the Wonyoung you knew. Not the princess she pretended to be in front of the camera. You continued pushing ahead, slow and steady as the head of your cock finally penetrated her.  

"Holy shit..." You muttered under her breath. 

"Fuck. Just....wait there a second," Wonyoung muttered, one long arm reaching back to press against your hip as she got accustom to the new stretch. 

You were more than happy to abide. Even just having past the head of your cock in her ass had you reeling. You knew that some of your reaction would be based on the novelty of it. On the fact that you were fucking Jang Wonyoung's ass for the first time. That you were the only person to ever do so. But the truth was it also felt far better than you could have imagined. It wasn't your first time. You hadn't lied when you said that Sunmi had taken you first. And, to be fair, you had loved it then too. But it had been different. You had merely experienced it as Sunmi rode you, in control the entire time. On top of that,t here wasn't the same history. As much as you hated to admit it, it didn't compare to this. 

"Okay," Wonyoung said, breaking you from your thoughts, "You can move." 

That was all you needed to hear. You pushed forward, inch by inch watching as her hole stretched around your cock until you made it about halfway down the length of your shaft.  

"This will have to do," you grunted. 

You began to move your hips, slowly at first as you rocked against her before adding more vigor. Steadily with drawing your cock before filling her backdoor again and again. Soft pants left Wonyoung as her nails dug into your flesh, her hand holding onto your thigh. 

"How does it feel," you asked her. 

"Like I'm being split in half," she groaned. 

"And?" 

Wonyoung was silent for a moment before a breathless, "...so good." 

"Yeah?" Your cock twitched inside of her. 

She nodded, her eyes closed, "Fuck yes. Fuck, your cock feels so good inside my tight little asshole." 

"That's right," you said, picking up the pace. "And no one will make you feel like this." 

"It's all yours," Wonyoung moaned. "Always yours, Daddy." 

Somewhere along the way you had transitioned to the one who was laying a possessive claim as opposed to Wonyoung. Whatever, you tossed it up to the heat of the moment. This changed nothing but it did motivate you to see this through to the end. After that it'd be like this never happened but until then her ass was yours. 

Your grip on her hips tightened as your pace increased, pounding her  backdoor. Wonyoung's hand dipped between her thighs, rubbing her clit as she chased her second orgasm.  

"Fuck!" She chanted, becoming more vocal as her climax drew near. 

"I'm going to come," you grunted. "I'm going to fill you up." 

Wonyoung didn't have the capacity to reply, instead her mouth fell open in a silent cry as her second orgasm washed over her. Not one to be a liar you finally managed to fit your entire length into her ass, just in time for your own release to hit you. Your cock swelled before spilling an obscene amount of cum into her bowel. As you pulled your cock out you watched your cum ooze out of her puckered hole.  

"Jesus christ..." You muttered, chest heaving.  The sight alone was damn near enough to make you want a round two. 

For once Wonyoung didn't have a smart comeback, instead slowly sinking to the ground in a heap, her cheek still pressed against the wall as she tried to catch her breath. Idly you couldn't help but wonder if this was how she imagined this encounter was going to go when she first confronted you. Maybe you'd get to ask her once some of her senses returned. For now you just wanted to bask in the pleasure of what had just happened without thinking too hard. 

TWO WEEKS LATER. 

"Un-fucking-believable." 

You stared at your phone, watching as the latest tiktok reel came across your screen. You watched as your girlfriend, Sunmi, and your ex-girlfriend, Wonyoung, completed a dance challenge together. Of course, Sunmi had no idea about your past relationships. Wonyoung on the other hand was well aware. 

And yet here she was, doing a dance challenge with the same woman whose boyfriend had been fucking her ass not two weeks earlier. 

You could only shake your head in disbelief and some mild concern. "What the hell are you plotting, Wony." 

[kunareads]

how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

actor!satoru x popstar!reader

you and satoru fulfill the prophecy (he picks you up, pulls them down, turns you around).

prev / next

series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 4.7k

satoru "filthy mouth" gojo!!! i had to stop writing this multiple times because of what he does to me. PART 3 VALENTINE'S DAY (comment for taglist)

content: fluff and SMUT! even more tension, you and satoru are once again the subjects of internet speculation, making out, 69, oral (m! and f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, pronebone, cowgirl, he's very much in control here

18+ please <3

the internet does what it does best: fill in the blanks.

neither of you say anything. no statements, no denials, no acknowledgments. but speculation spreads like wildfire.

it started small. the blurry afterparty photos, the red carpet chemistry dissection, the think pieces about hollywood's most unexpected flirtation. the usual.

then you post an instagram story.

nothing special. just a close-up of a wine glass, city lights blurred in the background. no context, no caption. but the fans? they think they know.

twitter erupts.

@/satorumess: not to be crazy but i mapped out their locations based on timestamps and—

@/fulltimeshipper: this is worse than when the CIA redacted half that UFO document

@/ynupdates: y/n posting a cryptic story the same night satoru is spotted downtown… oh we are in the trenches forreal

then, satoru likes a tiktok.

a slow-motion edit of you in your red carpet and afterparty looks, set to some dramatic song, captioned this woman is dangerous, your honor.

he doesn't comment, doesn't follow the account. just leaves one single like. and the internet implodes.

@/fandomedits: nah this isn't pr this is a man down BAD

@/popcultupdates: GOJO SATORU LIKING THIRST EDITS IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT WE HAVE LOST HIM COMPLETELY

@/ynstan: this man saw a slo-mo thirst edit and said "yeah let me cosign that"

but it gets worse.

an old clip resurfaces. a red carpet from last year. you and satoru, near each other but never interacting. a moment that meant nothing—until now.

fans slow it down, zoom in, analyze every tiny detail:

satoru steps onto the carpet, and your eyes flick toward him, barely noticeable.

he glances in your direction.

there's a beat where he exhales, seems to collect himself—something no one caught before.

and suddenly, it's evidence.

@/fathergojo: why do their interactions feel like deleted scenes from a romcom

@/yninvestigator: guys. GUYS. what do you MEAN she looked at him FIRST. what do you MEAN HE TOOK A BREATH AND LOOKED AWAY.

@/stanwars: suddenly i believe in fate. suddenly i understand greek tragedies.

apparently, none of this is new.

you and satoru are just catching up.

+++

+++

satoru isn't good at waiting.

patience isn't exactly his strong suit, but when the reward is this good? he doesn't mind.

you walk in like the last week never happened. like the chaos never even registered.

the rooftop lighting catches the silk of your dress, the shine of your jewelry, the sheen of your lips. it makes you look untouchable.

attention follows you effortlessly. heads turn, backs straighten. someone says something, you smile—polite, charming, distant. you're impossible not to watch.

and satoru watches.

he's become acquainted with the effect you have, but it hits harder tonight than it did a week ago.

because now he knows how you taste.

the glass in his hand is cool, condensation falling between his fingers. he takes a sip, tracking you, cataloging details no one else would catch.

the way your shoulders shift, subtle, as you get closer.

the flick of your gaze toward him before you fully reach him.

you stop beside him, close enough for the scent of your perfume to settle between you.

a pause before you meet his eyes.

"so… how's your week been?" you ask, tone light, a smile gracing your features.

satoru exhales a laugh, tipping his glass like a toast. "surprisingly quiet. you?"

as you talk, your fingers trace the rim of your glass. he watches. you let him.

he leans in when he speaks. you don't move away.

he notices the way the waiter lingers, the way you dismiss it with a polite, distant smile.

you notice the way his expression shifts at that, just slightly. neither of you acknowledge it.

"you're kind of a nightmare," you tease.

satoru grins, unbothered. "funny. some people call me a dream."

you laugh and roll your eyes at him. he takes his time with his next sip, letting the tension settle. you're watching him watch you.

it would be easy to let you play this game, to see how long you can act like you're not as impatient as he is. but he leans in, voice quiet, just for you.

"you gonna make me wait?" low, taunting.

you could, but you don't. instead, you lean in too, meeting him halfway. you set your glass down carefully. he mirrors you.

someone—a bartender, another guest—tries to pull you into conversation, but you don't reply.

you lean into him, your voice calm but sure.

"let's go."

+++

streetlights skim over sleek black paint as the car pulls up, satoru swinging the door open. you barely take a step before his hand finds the small of your back, fingers pressing just enough to guide you.

he grins lazily. "last chance."

you roll your eyes as you step in. "so dramatic."

he closes the door after you and circles the car, the driver pulling off.

the backseat feels too small.

you cross your legs. his knee brushes against yours, and he doesn't move away. his hand rests on his thigh, relaxed, too close to yours. deliberate.

you pretend not to notice, but he knows better.

the silence is louder than words. the city blurs past the tinted windows, neon bleeding into the dark. the hum of the engine, the distant murmur of traffic, the faint pulse of something unsaid.

satoru exhales slowly, gliding his tongue over his teeth, thinking. he pushes a button, the partition rising.

you're both quiet, but it's a silent signal: stop pretending.

the second it clicks into place, he moves. or maybe you do. it doesn't matter. he's closer now, facing you, and you're already leaning in.

a beat. a sharp inhale.

his fingers skim your thigh, higher this time.

"i was trying to be good," you say quietly.

his voice drops, tight with restraint, and your breath catches. "don't."

the second the word leaves his lips, you're on him. a hand finds the back of his neck, drawing him in.

the first kiss is slow, but not reluctant. he drags it out because he can. he tilts his head, deepening it. he hums against your lips when you press closer, pleased.

his fingers tease higher. yours twist into his hair, nails scraping just enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

the car rolls to a stop.

neither of you move. not right away.

satoru's grip tightens, like he's considering pulling you onto his lap. like he could keep you here a little longer, let the city blur beyond the tinted glass while he takes his time.

instead, he drags his lips down your jaw, then lower. he breathes you in before murmuring, "upstairs."

+++

the door clicks shut, sealing you in. no music, no distant hum of the city, just quiet, dense and charged.

neither of you break the silence.

satoru steps in first. the air seems to crackle around him here the same way it does everywhere else.

you hold his stare, challenging. he waits.

a test. a game.

then, finally, you reach for him. his grin is lazy, knowing. like he was waiting for you to break first.

this kiss is purposeful. his lips brush yours—once, then again. a silent question, just the slow press of his mouth, the barely-there slide of his hands down your waist.

your fingers slip under his shirt, nails grazing skin, just enough to pull a slow, amused breath from him.

his hands find your hips, insistent, pulling you in until there's no space left. the shift makes you gasp into his mouth, and he drinks it in, looking smug, like he expected it.

like he's been waiting for this all week.

his grip tenses, like he's about to pull you closer—but then he's gone. his heat vanishes, his lips just a ghost of pressure before they disappear completely.

he barely moves when you chase him a bit, just tilts his chin, smiling. like he knew you wouldn't let him go. like he was counting on it.

you inhale, frustration sparking low in your chest, and you move before you think. your hands find his shirt, tugging him back in—but before you can, his fingers close around your wrists, catching you with ease.

his grin is knowing, his grip firm but teasing. he tilts his head, amusement spreading across his face.

"easy, princess," he murmurs, voice low, eyes flicking to your lips. "what's the rush?"

you arch a brow, fingers flexing in his grasp. "you did haul me out of the car."

his grin widens. "not like you put up a fight."

you push.

you press into him, backing him towards the wall. he lets you. lets you kiss him deeper, hands still wrapped around your wrists but relaxing, giving you room to move.

for a second, you think you've won.

then the world tilts and your back meets the wall with a gentle thud, your head tipping back slightly as he crowds you.

he smiles at you, eyes sparkling, enjoying himself too much. his hands settle at your waist, keeping you where he wants you.

you should be annoyed. instead, you match him and smirk right back.

you like the way he handles you.

his touch is maddening.

his fingertips skate over your ribs, your stomach, but never where you need them. it's intentional and exploratory, like he has all the time in the world.

and he does. his apartment is a sanctuary from the mess of the last week. no prying eyes or a disgruntled kento to interrupt here.

you shift, trying to lead him downward, but he only chuckles, barely making a sound.

"you can be patient for me, can't you?" his voice dips lower, "or are you already too far gone?"

he's mocking you, and reflex kicks in—your thighs squeeze together, and you feel the heat creep up your neck when he notices.

his fingers ghost up your inner thighs, teasing warmth into your skin before retreating. every near-touch is calculated, just enough to remind you of how easily he could give you what you want.

he watches as impatience builds in your expression, as your breath stutters when his hands graze your waist again.

your nails press into his shoulders, a silent dare. before he can smirk, before he can gloat, you roll your hips against him, slow, deliberate. the response is immediate.

his breath falters, a groan through gritted teeth. his jaw tightens like he wasn't expecting you to test him. for a split second, he stills entirely.

you smile at him. message received.

"if you wanna ruin me, do it right, satoru." a taunt disguised as a whisper, just enough to chip at his restraint.

his hold turns bruising, like he wants to leave something behind. the teasing tone vanishes, his smirk dissolving into something darker. your breath catches—not in surprise, but excitement as something kindles in your stomach.

because suddenly, it's not a game anymore.

the realization barely registers before he has you pinned, wrists above your head, mouth at your ear.

"hope you know what you're asking for," he murmurs, hips flush against yours. his voice is different now—rough, heat twisting through every syllable. you shudder at the sound, your body responding. he makes good on his words immediately.

his hands find the backs of your thighs—then, suddenly, you're weightless, gasping, clutching at his shoulders. your legs draw around his hips, heat pooling fast.

a startled breath leaves you, but he's already moving, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing at all.

he drops you onto his bed, grinning at the glare you send him when you bounce.

you don't even get the chance to scold—his hands are already on you, pulling your panties down.

his teeth graze your inner thigh before he bites down, sharp enough to make you whine, hips squirming. he exhales with a smile. "thought so." his tongue follows—slow, indulgent, a promise to ruin you.

you've barely found your breath when he shifts, broad hands pressing into your thighs, spreading you open. his gaze lifts, dark and teasing.

"comfortable?" he asks, lips skimming the inside of your knee.

you roll your eyes, about to retort—but your fingers curl into the sheets instead when his mouth finds your core, hot and devastating.

your hips shift, back arching, and he hums against you, content.

you move the moment he adjusts—quick, decisive, hands pushing into his shoulders. he lets you shift the balance, rolling onto his back, breath catching when he opens his eyes to find you above him.

your fingers work fast, tugging at his belt, yanking it free with a sharp pull. you work on the button, the zipper, pulling the fabric down just enough to free him.

he was so fucking cocky a second ago. now, he's not even breathing right, body taut under your hands. so you stroke once, then twice, then take him into your mouth.

no warning, no reluctance.

his grip tightens on your thigh, breath punching out like you knocked it loose. his head tilts back, jaw tensing, a soft "fuck—just like that, baby" escaping him.

you hum around him, pleased, tongue teasing, and he swears again under his breath. his hands fist into the sheets, trying to ground himself.

but satoru doesn't like being outmatched.

his fingers skate up your thigh, squeezing. and then his mouth is on you, tongue dragging through your folds, slow and deep.

you gasp against him, body tensing, and he grins.

"that's better," he mutters against you, lips brushing sensitive skin before his tongue circles once, twice.

the sound you make is muffled around him, and he groans in response, the vibration rolling through you both.

you try to keep a rhythm, fingers curling at the base as you sink down, but every time his tongue moves just right, every time he sucks at your clit, you falter.

he notices, and he loves it.

his hands tighten on your hips, keeping you still as he buries his face deeper, determined, fucking into you with his tongue, sending you to the edge without mercy.

you try to keep going, try to keep your lips wrapped around him, but every nerve in your body is on fire, pressure winding as you moan around him.

he grins against you. "that's it, princess. lemme hear it."

his fingers dig into your skin, tightening as he licks into you with purpose, drawing desperate sounds from your throat.

it's too much. you pull your mouth off of him, panting, lips slick and hips twitching against his face as the bliss hits all at once, unraveling you from the inside out.

"satoru, fuck," you gasp, the words nearly unintelligible through your moans. you can't do anything but let it consume you, your body seizing before the release finally drives through you.

you gasp, sharp and unsteady, his name tumbling past your lips again, voice cracking into a whine.

satoru doesn't stop until you're shaking, your legs weak, pleasure rolling over you in dizzying, tormenting waves.

only when your thighs twitch, too sensitive, does he finally pull away. his face is wet, and he's breathless. he presses one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before looking up at you, eyes dark and lazy.

"you're fucking perfect," he murmurs, voice hoarse, before flipping you onto your stomach, pressing you into the mattress.

you're still coming down when he lifts your hips, tucking a pillow underneath them.

his breath is warm against your shoulder, steady and grounding. his lips trail down your spine, flirting, savoring the way you squirm. a hand settles on your hip possessively, making sure you don't slip away.

his other hand trails lower, sliding between your legs, fingers pressing in—gradually, unhurried, teasing the mess he left behind.

"fuck, baby—you're dripping for me." his voice is all rough edges and satisfaction, murmured against your ear. you shiver. his fingers slide through your folds, spreading your slick, teasing the spot he knows will make you gasp.

"been thinking about this all week," he mumbles, kissing the curve of your neck. his fingers dip lower, pushing inside, slow and deep. "bet you have, too."

you whimper, and he smirks against your skin.

"should've had you like this that night. should've fucked you right up against that wall."

his fingers move at an unbearable pace, curling, pressing into the spot that makes your knees weak. your hips jerk, but he holds you still.

"needy, huh?" his breath is burning against your ear, teasing, smug. "tell me how bad you want it, baby."

your fingers clutch the sheets, patience fraying. you should fight him— push back, make him work for it—but you're too far gone for games.

"satoru—"

his fingers stall. "mm, not good enough."

"want you," you gasp, growing desperate. "need you inside me."

he groans like you just hit him where it hurts. he pulls his hand away, leaving you empty for barely a second before the thick of him replaces them.

he slips the tip through your folds, slick and teasing, but doesn't push in. "this what you wanted?" he asks, rougher now.

"yes."

"say it again."

your breath stutters, but you give him what he wants. "yes. please," you gasp.

his hands flex against your hips, keeping you still as he pushes forward, stretching you open with an unrelenting drag that knocks the air from your lungs. it's almost too much—almost—but you want all of it. you take all of him.

he moves in slowly, and a shaky gasp escapes as he bottoms out, deep inside you, holding himself there, letting you feel it.

his breath is ragged now, his exhale hot against your skin. "fuck."

his hands slide up your sides, guiding you, holding you where he needs you.

"you feel so fucking good," he breathes, voice dipping into something ruined.

his hips roll, deep and slow, like he wants to feel everything. like he wants to make this last.

you think for a second that you won't survive at this pace.

satoru brings his body lower, pressing his chest flush against your back, all heat and tension, breath ghosting over your shoulder as he sinks in.

his arms slip under yours, palms spreading over your shoulders, drawing you into him. not just pulling you back, but owning the space between you.

hi thrusts are indulgent, stretching, coating himself in you. his breath is uneven, satisfaction humming in your ear.

you push your hips back into him, matching his rhythm.

satoru exhales a sharp breath, fingers digging in. "you trying to make me lose it?"

you don't answer, just push back harder on instinct.

his response is immediate—a sharp, precise thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, ripping a moan from your throat before you can swallow it down.

"thought so," he murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder.

his pace turns deep and steady—controlled, measured. he brings his face close to yours, wanting to watch you react, to feel you tighten around him with every movement.

but you're impatient. you shift, pressing up onto your elbows, angling your hips just enough to take him deeper.

his pace stutters. he swears under his breath, voice raw, and one arm locks around your waist. he holds you in place as he fucks into you now, hard enough to leave you trembling, helpless against the bed.

his name leaves your lips, breathless and desperate.

"fuck—it's so good," he groans, half-choked, messy. his face buries into your neck, hands gripping like he's holding on for dear life. "let me hear you, baby."

you can barely think, barely breathe. his hand slides between your legs, fingers finding that spot, pressing slow, teasing circles.

"satoru—"

he chuckles, low and smug, but there's an edge to it now, a tension in the way his hips stutter, his movements losing their precision.

and then you tighten around him, body seizing, pleasure cresting all at once—

"fuck," he bites out, breathless, grip tightening like he's trying to hold on.

and then—he pulls out.

a sharp inhale, the loss making you gasp, but before you can even form a thought—

he flips you over.

"not done with you yet," he mutters, voice rough, gaze dark as he hovers over you.

and just like that, everything shifts.

his hands find you the second he pulls out—a sharp, dizzying shift as he flips you over, settling beneath you. his hands slide up your ribs, brush over your breasts, then slide back down.

his fingers splay wide on your hips, steadying you, but it's his gaze that pins you in place. "wanna see you like this," he murmurs, voice low, still rough from before.

your lips part, but the way he looks at you makes it hard to tease. instead, your nails drag down his chest, unhurried, feeling his abs tense beneath your touch.

"yeah?" you breathe.

his fingers flex, tightening just slightly. "yeah, baby. show me how bad you want it."

you wrap your fingers around him, stroking once, slow and teasing, just to watch him squirm.

his jaw clenches, but he doesn't push. he lets you take your time, lets you set the pace, struggling to hold back.

you don't make him wait long.

you line him up and sink down, savoring the stretch—the way he exhales, sharp and shaky, fingers digging in.

"fuck," he breathes, watching you, eyes dark, half-lidded, all heat.

one of your hands finds his shoulders, nails scraping lightly as you start to move. the other moves down to where you're connected, feeling just how far he spreads you open.

at first, it's slow—like you're figuring each other out all over again. a careful roll of your hips, tension simmering, teasing at something deeper.

but it doesn't last.

his grip firms, guiding you down, matching your rhythm. he thrusts up to meet you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs.

"you feel me, princess?" he asks, pulling you down harder, deeper.

you answer him with a desperate little whimper that makes him melt.

both of your movements are messy, desperate—like you both know exactly where this is going and you need to get there.

your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping, tugging just slightly, and he hisses, eyes squeezing shut for a second.

his hands slide up your spine, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing to yours, breathing hard.

"you feel so fucking good," he murmurs, almost a whine. "so wet for me, so fucking perfect."

you can't even speak. your thoughts blur, pleasure winding tight, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

he shifts beneath you, angling deeper, hitting exactly where you need him. the sudden jolt of pleasure makes your whole body tighten, makes you let out a sound you didn't mean to make—

a loud, broken moan, breathy, helpless.

his head snaps up, eyes wild, something cracking behind them—like he just lost his last thread of control.

"oh," his breath shudders, grip tightening. "oh."

and then he's gone.

he snaps his hips into yours, his hands gripping, guiding, setting a pace that's relentless, that has you gasping, nails biting into his shoulders.

your vision goes hazy, body tightening, winding up unbearably fast. you try to tell him you're close, but all that comes out is a shaky, broken "satoru—"

"oh, fuck—there it is," he breathes, voice dropping, eyes dark and triumphant. "knew you'd sound so fucking sweet falling apart for me."

his hand finds your clit, pressing just right—teeth gritting as he holds on, watching you break first.

and you shatter.

it slams into you, sharp and consuming, a shockwave rolling through your body. your breath stutters, a broken gasp stumbling free as you tighten around him, locking him in.

he feels it—the way you pulse around him, the way you tremble, how your moans dissolve into something helpless. it undoes him. his arm slides your waist, his other hand finding the back of your neck, and he pulls you closer like he needs you.

he curses as you tremble against him, holding you close, burying himself deep in you as he falls apart.

your name leaves his lips like a prayer, breathless, reverent. he groans against your skin as he finally spills into you. pleasure crashes through him, and for a moment, all he can do is feel **the heat of you, the way you throb around him, the way your body takes him like you were made for this.

for a second, you both stay still; the only sound between you is the sharp, uneven puff of breath.

your hands shake against his chest. his fingers are still locked around your waist.

he exhales a wrecked laugh, warm and lazy against your temple.

"so fucking worth the wait," he murmurs, voice low, sated. he kisses all over your face, palm smoothing down your spine. "knew you'd be perfect for me."

+++

morning light spills through the curtains, golden and soft, warming tangled sheets and bare skin. everything is still. quiet, but not empty. satoru is warm against you, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. at some point in the night, your leg found its way between his, one of his arms draped lazily over your waist.

you shift, stretching slightly, and his fingers flex at your hip, like some part of him refuses to let you go.

he murmurs something unintelligible, voice low and drowsy. then, with a slow, easy smile against your skin, "stay."

you huff a quiet laugh. "clingy."

"mmm," he hums, voice is thick with sleep. "you're warm."

he still hasn't opened his eyes. he just shifts a little, nestling deeper into you. his fingers pressing idly into your hip, like he's memorizing the shape of you beneath them.

you stay like that for a while.

you steal a button-up from his closet when you finally get up, slipping it over your shoulders before following him into the bathroom. he doesn't comment, just flicks his gaze over you, lips twitching, before rummaging through a drawer. a moment later, he presses a spare toothbrush into your palm.

"definitely took you for the clingy type."

he grins, stretching lazily against the counter. "not my fault you're so soft."

you brush your teeth side by side, bleary-eyed in the mirror. he stands just a little too close, bumping into your arm like he can't help himself.

and when you head back to bed, he follows, catching your wrist just before you climb in, guiding you back under the covers with ease.

"wait." his lips brush your shoulder. "just stay there."

"i am staying," you point out, amused.

"good," he hums, pressing one last kiss to your head before disappearing into the kitchen.

satoru returns minutes later, two mugs in hand. he sets yours on the nightstand before wordlessly disappearing back to the kitchen.

you wait until you smell breakfast, then you get up and follow the scent out to his kitchen island.

he doesn't ask if you're hungry. he just plates your food and sets it in front of you without a second thought.

you steal sips from his juice between bites, and he lets you, just watching, amused, eyes flicking toward you over the rim of his glass.

soft touches happen naturally, thoughtlessly.

his palm finds the small of your back when he moves past you, warm and steady.

your fingers brush when you both reach for the same thing.

his knuckles graze your thigh when he leans back against the counter.

none of it feels unfamiliar.

you stay longer than you expected to. he doesn't call you out on it.

the goodbye is unserious, drawn out in a way that makes it obvious neither of you is in a rush.

"try not to miss me too much," you tease, pulling on your shoes with a grin.

he smiles, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "oh, i will."

his tone is playful, but something about the way he says them makes you hesitate, just for a second.

and as you step out, just before it closes behind you, he calls after you.

"i'll be thinking about you, y'know."

tags (ongoing): @moonchhu @httpstoyosi @lavnder311 @harryzcherry @perkypeony @katecupcakekate @hellicify @oh-my-god-donald @jupiterbinnie @i88b0nten @satxoru @chuuminn @moncher-ire @r0ckst4rjk @flwerie @raendarkfaerie @pinksdump @blkmystery @pearlessance @satoruxsc

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: “Sealed with a Ring”

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,267

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: After secretly eloping a year ago, Paige and Reader have kept their marriage under wraps, but anniversaries and memories are to good not to share...

Paige and I had never been the type to do things traditionally.

Our love story started in a way that felt effortless, like the universe had been waiting for us to finally meet. Four years together and a year secretly married, we were as solid as ever, even if the rest of the world didn’t know.

And honestly? We liked it that way.

Our elopement had been quiet, intimate, and perfect—just us, a small ceremony with our closest friends and family, and matching simple bands that had symbolized our commitment long before we’d made it official.

But of course, Paige being Paige, she had still surprised me months later with a stunning diamond ring.

“For when you want something a little flashier,” she’d said, slipping it onto my finger before I had a chance to argue.

I had worn it, but never in the traditional way. It was either looped onto a delicate gold chain around my neck or sitting comfortably on my left middle finger. It kept people from asking too many questions, and since no one suspected we were already married, it was easier that way.

Still, Paige was patient. She never pushed, never questioned why I wasn’t ready to show off what was already ours.

Until today.

It was our first wedding anniversary.

Four years together, one year of marriage, and not a single regret.

Paige had planned a perfect day—brunch at our favorite spot, a cozy afternoon at home watching old highlights of each other’s games, and now, a quiet dinner just the two of us.

“You’re staring,” I teased, setting down my fork as Paige’s eyes lingered on me.

She smirked, twirling her wine glass between her fingers. “Can’t help it. My wife is beautiful.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, even after all this time. “You’ve been calling me your wife all day.”

“Because you are,” she said simply, reaching for my hand across the table. “And I think it’s time the rest of the world knows it too.”

I knew what she meant before she even said it.

She wanted us to finally share our rings. To stop hiding.

To be seen.

I swallowed, glancing at my hand where my band rested snugly against my skin. I wasn’t afraid of people knowing. It was just… ours. Private.

But when I looked up at Paige, her expression soft and patient, I realized something.

I wasn’t scared of sharing.

I just needed the right moment.

And what better time than now?

“Okay,” I said finally, squeezing her hand. “Let’s do it.”

Her eyes lit up, and before I knew it, she was pulling out her phone.

The Instagram story went up within minutes.

It was a simple photo—our hands intertwined, matching wedding bands gleaming under the dim lighting of the restaurant. The caption?

One year married, four years of love.💕

We didn’t think much of it.

But the internet did.

By the time we got home, social media was in shambles.

TikTok was exploding.

Fan edits popped up within minutes, clips of us laughing on the court, walking together on campus, sharing subtle touches during interviews—all set to emotional background music.

One video had nearly 500k views already, with the caption:

PAIGE AND Y/N WERE MARRIED THIS WHOLE TIME?!??

The comments were even wilder:

• “THEY’RE WIVES? NO ONE TALK TO ME.”

• “I KNEW THOSE MATCHING BANDS MEANT SOMETHING.”

• “This is the greatest plot twist in UConn history.”

Instagram and X weren’t much better.

Our post was reshared thousands of times, with people dissecting every little detail. Theories ran wild—how long had we been married? Who knew? Did Coach Geno officiate the wedding? (Spoiler: No, but the idea was hilarious.)

Even the WNBA’s official account got in on the fun, commenting:

Well, well, well… look who decided to tell us. Congrats, you two.

Paige was lying on the couch, scrolling through her phone with a giant grin while I sat cross-legged on the floor, watching the chaos unfold.

“This is insane,” I muttered, watching another TikTok fly past my screen.

Paige chuckled. “You’re the one who agreed to post it.”

I sighed dramatically, flopping against her legs. “Yeah, yeah. I just didn’t expect people to react like this.”

Her fingers ran through my hair, soothing. “Do you regret it?”

I turned my head to look up at her, taking in the way her blue eyes softened.

“No,” I admitted. “I think I like it.”

She beamed. “Good, because there’s no going back now.”

The next morning, the media frenzy had only intensified.

Even our teammates were clowning us in the group chat.

Icey B: Y’ALL REALLY JUST DROPPED THAT AND WENT TO BED????

Hey Arnold: I BEEN KNEW but I’m still screaming.

Z²: Not y’all making it sound like a press release 😭 “one year married, four years of love” lmao.

Sar bear: Geno is gonna have QUESTIONS.

P boogs: 🤷🏼‍♀️

I laughed, tossing my phone onto the bed. “Our teammates are so dramatic.”

Paige flopped onto the mattress beside me, her arm draping over my waist. “They love us. The fans love us.” She kissed my temple. “And I love you.”

I sighed happily, turning to bury my face in her neck. “Love you too, Mrs. Bueckers.”

She hummed. “Say that again.”

“Mrs. Bueckers,” I teased.

Paige grinned, tightening her hold on me. “Best thing I’ve ever heard, Mrs. Bueckers.”

And just like that, the whole world knew.

But at the end of the day, it didn’t change a thing.

Paige was mine.

I was hers.

And that was all that mattered.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️