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hoshigray · 10 months ago

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Hellooo, I have a requesttt. Bully!Geto & bully!gojo x reader please!!

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: didn't know how to tackle this, but I think I got it >:3

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! college setting; satosugu + you are juniors - sex in shared space; college dorm - fingering (f! receiving) - breast fondling + nipple play - oral (m! receiving) - facials - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - Eiffel Tower/spit-roasting position - slight degradation - pet names (baby, crybaby, cutie, good girl, plaything, pretty girl, sweetheart) - unprotected sex (doesn't shoot inside, tho) - mention of tears and drool.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

“—Gaaahh!! N-Noo, shtop! No more, no mo—Oooh!”

“Aww, don’t go cryin’ on us yet; let’s see how much this pussy can cum!”

“Satoru, keep playing with their nipples; they keep gripping my fingers like crazy…”

Being bullied seems to be an everyday thing for a wimp like you—especially in the hands of Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto.

What kind of person lets two of the hottest guys in the school bully them? You’re practically nearly a full-ass grown adult; you shouldn’t be letting people push you around like it’s middle school! And yet, you can’t seem to bring yourself to stand for yourself, too meek and reserved to step up the ladder of confrontation, even if it’s from people who’ve tormented you most of your life.

Gojo and Geto have been your bullies for nearly your entire academic life, starting from first grade. To say that your life was hell on Earth was just the surface, coming home in tears and wishing to disappear every single day. The emotional toil was too much to bear, so much so that you did everything in your power to make sure you didn’t end up in the same high school as the two, a task that you’re proud to act on as making friends and getting through the final four years of your primary education became easier to accomplish.

However, this fulfillment was thrown out the window when you walked on campus grounds and discovered that after two years, your bullies had transferred to the same college as you! Not only in the same place but in the same dorm section and sharing the same class—had the world gone mad?! Just when you have accepted this new chapter in your life to start anew and fresh, these two spin back and the pool of anxiety swallows you back up and pulverizes your heart. There was no way for this situation to be envisaged.

“Ohaaa!! Shtooop, t’ooo fasst!!”

And now, they have new methods to diminish your dignity.

Against your comfort, you and the two were assigned a spreadsheet to work on and have it done by Thursday, so you three were supposed to be working in the living room of their dorm apartment. Nevertheless, you don’t think lying on the couch with your back to Gojo and Geto between your legs has anything to do with the assignment…

You were squirming, Gojo’s slender hands cupping and fondling your chest, tips of his fingers tweaking your nipples roughly so that you whine helplessly. Legs spread open for your panties and bare cunt to be exposed when you were stripped from your leggings, and Geto toys your private part with his fingers. The sensation of his middle digit inside you was hard to believe, like the howl from curling onto the upper wall of your vagina.

“Uuuwww, ohmyGoooood…!” You throw your head back to the shoulder of the white-haired one whose forefingers circle the buds of your mounds. “W-We can’t be—hic—doing this…”

“Ehhh, c’mon, baby,” hearing Gojo talk to your ear so close has to be something out of a dream or nightmare. “Who says we can’t play with our favorite person, huh?”

You gulp at the lick of your earlobe. “Because…we have work to d—Aaahh!”

“Don’t think about that assignment when I’m busy shoving my fingers in you,” Geto reminds you, the pace of his digit increasing and the scrape of his fingertip having your toes curl. “Doesn’t the pretty girl wanna play us like old times?”

A hand grabs his wrist, yet that does little to hinder the raven-haired one’s diligence within your leaking chasm. “B-But…We can’t!” Jesus, it’s tough to think adequately the more Geto pushes and pulls his finger, brushing it up against your texture. Tears welled up in your eyes, your body sore from their constant touches.

“God, still cryin’ from being teased, huh, crybaby?” Gojo chuckles while cupping your cheeks. “Still a cutie, though…”

No way, there’s absolutely no way! You had to be dreaming because there is no way you’re awake to see the day Gojo is kissing you! Biting your bottom lip and shoving his tongue inside, your brain practically explodes as you moan in his mouth, and your slit contracts the rub of Geto’s finger. Did you just cum from a kiss?!

“Oh wow, they’re spasming like crazy,” Geto chortles at the sight of your legs trembling and your genitalia fluttering around the digit. “Cumming from a kiss, huh? Heh, so easy to mess with.”

Your response was deterred to that of imperceptible wails, crying into Gojo’s pillowy lips as he sucked on your tongues to hear you sob more. This was so unfair; this situation was not in your favor once you were dragged into their apartment.

Not even in the next phase of this meet-up.

Your clothes are discarded from your body to the living room floor, mounting on the couch on all fours, Geto to your front and Gojo to your back. The three of you are too far gone to think about the damn assignment—your frame too occupied by their cocks to evade them so.

Soapy lips suck on the dick of the dark-haired other, puffy cheeks making room for the limb burrowing inside your mouth. He fucks you orally with vigor, snapping his hips to your lips as your head pounds with every jab to the back of your throat. You’re not left with a second to breathe calmly, his girth overwhelming.

“Fuuuhhck, Jesus Christ,” he curses, grinding his pelvis and moaning at the feel of your tight throat. “Such a good girl, sucking me so well; got the mouth of a great cumslut.”

“Has the pussy of one, too!”

The words burn your ears, coming from behind as the guy with snowy hair plunges his length into your vagina. His hands are situated on your waist to keep you on him, the curve of his cock scratching your sweet spots too accurately that you’re forced to scream on the other’s shaft.

Gojo throws his head back with a sigh, “Fuckin’ shiiiit, this pussy…clamping on me so hard, you wanna milk me dry?” He bends down to your ear, “Want my load so bad like a little whore?” Squeezing on him was inevitable, making him hiss. “Fuck! Don’t do that…”

“Damn this throat, man,” you peer up to Geto. Your eyes have already released the tears stricken down your face, the lower part of your face all hot from the frequent hits. He chortles, “You look so good all messy like that, sweetheart…Holy shit, you looked so fucked out.”

Of course you were; they’ve been toying with your body for ten minutes with no rest! Your frame was aching so bad, sobbing because of the cock busying your throat and the dick grazing your G-spot. It was too much to catch up with, especially when Gojo sneaks a hand to your clit to rub and swipe. Your eyes roll to the ceiling, and a scream is muffled, your figure submitting to the pinches on your sensitive pearl.

“Wanna cum?” Silver brows trench together at the clamp of your walls. “Do it, cum on my dick, you nasty crybaby.”

More tweaks to your clitoris coincide with the erratic pistons of Gojo’s thighs, and you have no choice but to climax once more. Your cunt tightens around his cock with every hit of your orgasm, and he makes sure to get his raw cock out of you to ejaculate his milky fluid onto your back, painting your skin with his load.

The same goes for Geto as well, who grabs your head and roughly pulls himself off to paint your face with his essence. You whimper with every quiver and addition of his sperm, spurting to your forehead and decorating your cheeks to slide down your chin. You never felt so dirty in your life, your tongue accidentally tasting it from licking your lips. “Good girl,” he compliments with a teasing pinch to your cheek.

Gojo rubs his length on the cusp of your butt. “Man, cutie, you keep driving me crazy.” His fingers aimlessly play with your clit. “Now I really can’t leave you alone…”

Dread weighs your bones at his words, and you can only question how you can survive these upcoming semesters with these harassers. And now that they’re hooked on you, this fresh new start has become much more suffocating…

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seraphinitegames · 3 months ago

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It's here! The demo for chapters 3 and 4 for Book 4 of The Wayhaven Chronicles is HERE!!!

https://dashingdon.com/play/seraphinite/the-wayhaven-chronicles-book-four-demo/mygame/

This link now supersedes the Patreon early access link.

(We're aware that Dashingdon will be closing down at the end of the month, so we'll be putting the demo up in an alternative location when we get the chance! Don't worry, the demos will still be available. Hope you enjoy this demo update, as well as the future one to come, hehe! :D)

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ataleofcrowns · 4 months ago

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New Chapter Released!

Hello again! Hope your winter has gone well ❄️

With the public release of this new chapter we’re continuing with the Crown's development as a monarch, while romance and courtly intrigue build further:

Friendship scenes to deepen your Crown's relationship with the other characters outside of your main love interest

Diverging paths depending on whether you chose to meet the peri trader in disguise, or arrange a meeting with Kham instead

Within those diverging paths, you will make further decisions on how to handle the peri trader and/or Kham, with big consequences for future chapters

Romance specific scenes, of course, with your chosen love interest!

A and R both have very different scenes for their high romance and low romance routes! D and X romancers are in the clear... for now

If you find any coding errors, typos, pronoun mistakes and such while playing, you can report those through this form! Thank you for all your patience and support, I hope you enjoy the new chapter with the nearing end of 2024 💖

For those that are unfamiliar with the game

A Tale of Crowns is a high fantasy romance story, told in the form of a text-based interactive novel with choice mechanics. The setting is inspired by Kurdish culture as well as other historical settings in the Middle East such as Ancient Persia, but it also draws heavily from other cultures and countries in the region.

Your character is native to Arsur, a vast empire overseen by a single ruler known as the Crown. Unlike traditional monarchies, however, the title is not inherited through blood. Whenever the Crown dies, their famed golden eyes pass on to the one chosen by the Spirits of this world to be the new Crown. In this story, your MC takes on that role.

There are four different love interests to choose from, whose genders will be customized to suit the preferences of your Crown. You can find more info about them on the blog page!

Also note that this current version of the game is safe for those 16 years and older.

Like the premise so far? Play it and give it a try! The entire game is free!

If you enjoyed the game, please reblog! Share it with your friends! Recognition and reader interaction is just about the only thing I get in return for creating it ❤️

#a tale of crowns #interactive fiction #interactive story #interactive game #interactive novel #if game #if wip

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caramelkoo · 6 months ago

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before we shatter — jjk [one]

genre : established relationship, idol!jungkook

word count : 6k

summary : dating an idol is fun, they said. having a family with one is fun, they said. Until you're falling face forward because of your reality. A reality where Jungkook dreams of a future and a reality where your own future is collapsed.

chapter warnings : nsfw, strong language, mature content, fluff, so much angst, smut, talks of infertility, clit sucking, fingering, Jungkook worships her, dirty talk, doggy style, reader is in so much pain i love her sm, fall vibes <33, gift giving as a love language, pussy slapping with his d, big dick energy, jungkook is desperate. that's about it please mention if i missed anything.

read part two here

a/n : based on this ask so thank you anon for coming forward and giving me a chance to write this. i also wanna mention that im no doctor so please forgive me if i didn't do the topic of infertility justice. the second part gives more clarity in their case so please be kind to wait. enjoy and im v v grateful for you. you're so loved.

When you were a child, barely five, an orange butterfly came flying outside your front door. Your mom told you about it since she saw it first causing your entire face to instantly light up like the fourth of july.

An inexplicable joy filled your whole body making your day ten times better, not that you were having a bad one. A five year old can’t have a bad day whatsoever.

After you were done chasing it around, secretly hoping that it would land on your nose just the way they show on television, you had to let it go and head back inside.

Oddly enough the next morning you saw it again, this time it was not flapping its wings like it had last night, instead it was sitting on the window beside the door. Quiet and still.

You, ever so curious, had to ask your mom about it. “It might find comfort there,” she said.

Up until you met your boyfriend you had spent the majority of your time wondering where your comfort place is, what is that one place where you can just be yourself and not pretend to be some stoic woman. A place which lets you cry whenever you want but also replaces those tears with wide smiles and loud giggles.

Turns out, it’s your boyfriend’s arms.

It’s true. Jungkook with his kind, sparkly bambi eyes and bunny smile stole your damn heart a few years ago and is not willing to give it back. Although you can’t complain, in a world where people can’t seem to find the one for themselves, the angels up there granted you a guy every inch a gentleman. Safe to say it’s not one like one of those titular relationships you've come across.

He’s your solace, a roof where you can safely just about exist.

He heals you.

Dating an Idol comes with several perks, the biggest one of those being dealing with the huge amount of selective criticism. You feel hurt, of course, but when you’re with Jungkook, they are nothing but words behind a pixel. A pain that only lasts momentarily.

This pain though, is not as mundane. This one is making your stomach twist in apprehension. You’ve lost the count of how many deep breaths you’ve taken.

“I’m afraid this is a case of infertility miss _____” the doctor says, earning your attention.

You’re not able to form a word, however that does nothing to stop your subconscious mind from screaming, I knew it.

Being stupid enough to think you were well prepared to hear her say this, you mustered up the courage to enter the four walled white space which, at that time, didn’t feel as narrow as it does now. It’s almost as if it’s closing up on you.

Only after you sat before the woman in white coat and bad news, did you realize how gut wrenching this actually feels.

You face her with a weak smile, one that doesn’t actually reach your eyes, “Are- are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

Dr. Ana leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. The move itself tells you more than you need to. “Miss _____, I know it’ll be hard for you to come to terms with this but I suggest you try. I would also like to tell you, and I hope I’m not overstepping, but you can always go with adoption. The options are endless.”

Your throat feels awfully dry and you gulp. “Thank you uh, can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything”

“If you happen to cross paths with Jungkook, please don’t mention anything about this to him.”

Dr. Ana flashes you a kind smile, “Of course not ____. It’s your personal matter. I wouldn’t dare.”

“Thanks a lot.”

With one last nod you excuse yourself from her office. Your phone buzzes inside your pocket and you take it out, seeing Jungkook’s number stare up at you.

“Hey”

“Hey, my love. Are you busy?” His voice nearly brings tears to your eyes. It also brings up a question. Will he act the same towards you after you tell him where you are and what you just heard? Will his voice be filled with the same amount of excitement and affection for you?

“No, honey. I’m actually at my sister’s place. She was craving some alone time with her husband and asked me to babysit Coco”

You can visualise him awing already. Jungkook has grown attached to your sister’s daughter a little too much. His bond with Coco is just so bright it makes you wonder if they happened to be an actual father and daughter duo in the past life. They’re both full of beans and it’s a delight to see them both together.

He chimes, “Ah my little Coco bean. Is she near? Let me hear my angel.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try to come up with any transitory excuse that doesn’t make you run for the hills. “She’s sleeping right now. Made me work for it but I managed to settle her down”

Jungkook moans from the other side of the line and you mentally curse yourself. Not only are you lying through your teeth but also using your innocent niece as a pawn. From the day you began dating Jungkook, you’ve not looked at any other man. For the first time now, you have this nagging feeling as though you’re cheating on him.

“Well, alright next time then. When are you coming back home?”

“As soon as they do. Do you miss me already?” I tease.

“Pfft me and miss you? Impossible”

You gasp, the audacity of this boy. “How rude!!”

Your goofy boyfriend dares to chuckle, “I carry you with me everywhere I go, love. It’s hard to miss someone who’s this close to you every time of the day.”

It doesn’t take you long to grasp what he is referring to. The heart shaped bracelet rests proudly on his wrists and the man had refused to take it off ever since you gifted it to him. A sense of longing already creeps up in your heart, twisting it until you run out of breath.

Your chest expands as you fill it with much needed air, “Listen, honey I’ll give you a call soon yeah? I think Coco has woken up and I must go check if she needs something,” you fake a chuckle, “You know how she gets when she’s irritated”

“Oh yes of course. Promise to give me a call soon?”

This time the smile on your face is genuine, “I promise”

“Give Coco a kiss for me. I love you.”

“I love you.”

There’s a heavy weight on your chest as soon as you hang up the call. Maybe it has always been there. So, for a couple of minutes you just stand there in the hallway of the hospital taking in the sterile smell and worrisome patients, praying that the highest power up there gives you one last chance so you could try and fix what’s been ruined.

The commotion around you does nothing to overtake the voices in your head and sadness fires through you as you feel like you’re burning your boats. Despite all of that, you pray for one last time, this time for again being strong enough to let go.

Let go of your happiness.

Let go of your salvation.

Let go of your comfort.

Let go of Jungkook.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

You click the door shut behind you, hanging the coat on the rack. You’re not even done turning around when a muscular arm wraps around your abdomen and you’re pulled back against a taut chest.

“I missed you” his voice is muffled against your jumper.

You run your palms over Jungkook’s forearm, stopping to interlace your fingers with his.The way his hands fit with yours is adorable to you as if they were made to do so. The bracelet on his wrist is cool against your skin and you smile. “You know what’s funny? This guy I talked to earlier said it’s impossible for him to miss me”

He rests his chin on top of your shoulders, cheeks warm against yours. He has grown out a stubble which makes him look manlier for some reason and you can’t stop caressing it with your fingers whenever you cup his face.

“You’re talking to other guys?” If you hadn’t known Jungkook better than himself, you would have missed the pout of his lips when he said that.

You turn your face and place a sloppy kiss on his cheekbones, “Only my favourite guy in the whole world.”

He breaks out in a toothy grin and holds your gaze. “You’re my favourite girl too but I think you already know that.”

You nod but the pang of guilt is still lingering in your heart. “Still love hearing it.”

Jungkook releases you from his embrace and walks back, rounding the kitchen counter until he’s holding up a large bowl. “Ready for our fall ritual?”

Jungkook and you have been using your mum’s recipe to bake chocolate chip cookies every fall and while you enjoy baking with him, the thing that you take the most pleasure from is his face when he munches on the first cookie.

It’s one of your favorite sights ever. It takes quite a bit of effort to bake them but hell if you wouldn’t do it all over again just to see him close his eyes and moan like it is the best thing since sliced bread.

You join him behind the counter and look around. From the way the batter has already been prepared you suppose he’s been at it for a while. There are some chocochips in a small bowl across from you with some cranberries next to them because he knows you like them in your cookies.

“You don’t ever forget about the cranberries, do you?”

“Nope. They’re your favourite plus if you eat well, I can eat you well– ouch,” he jumps, “What was that for?”

You offer him a glare which does nothing to stop the smile threatening to break out of your lips, “Behave”

His face inches closer to yours, “Now honey don’t be acting like I didn’t give you the best orgasm this morning”

Oh well, how can you forget about that? Ninety nine percent of the time you love waking up in his arms while he’s the big spoon but there’s that one percent where he wakes you up with his head between your legs, sometimes with his face under your shirt sucking on your nipples. Indissoluble passion within him. His ability to satisfy you with his mouth alone needs to be studied because god if you don’t crave more and more.

You blink, once twice thrice, “You’re incorrigible”

He lets out a cackle at your flustered face as you wonder when you will stop blushing like a fool around him. It’s been years and he still makes you feel like you’re wrapped up in a ball of jitters. Jungkook leans back and straightens up. He plucks the apron from the counter before coming up behind you. “Hold your hair up for me” He demands.

You grab a fistful of your hair and lift them up as he settles it on your neck before tying the knot at your back. With one last kiss on the back of your neck he joins you.

“How long has it been since you began making this?”

“Not long ago. Thought I’d wait for you to come back home and then continue”

You watch him add the chocochips into the dough. His tattoos are barely visible behind the cozy sweater he’s wearing. At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, Jungkook with his perfect physique and gorgeous face looks good in everything, more so naked, but nothing triggers your cuteness aggression more than him wearing a fluffy knitted sweater, believe it or not. One which you knitted at that.

He pulls your attention away pausing your little drooling session, “How’s Coco bean doing?”

A sudden urge of getting close to him creeps up and you sneak between the counter and him, hugging him as you nuzzle your face in his chest. He smells like cinnamon. He places a gentle kiss on the crown of your head before resting his chin there.

“You smell so good”

“Thanks and she’s as chaotic as ever. Nailea bought the cutest pair of pyjamas for her,” you look up at him, “She looked like a loaf of bread when they made her wear it.”

“No way. Should we buy her another one of those?” he pulls back, barely able to hide the excitement on his face.

“You’re gonna spoil her”

“Damn right I will and if you call this spoiling, wait till I get one of those made by me.”

There it is.

If Jungkook wasn’t so fond of children, would it have been easier for you to cope? You do realize that you’re a stone’s throw away from losing him for once and for all. In the old days you heard somewhere that it takes a strong man to save to save himself and a great man to save another.

You want to be that brave person who saves him from lifelong loathing and regret towards you.

This turning point in your life gives you two options, one where you can hang by a thread and bite your tongue while you continue your life with him, another where you set him free. The latter one wins and you, however, lose.

“Hey you went silent there. You okay?” He cups your cheek with one hand, his thumb grazing your cheekbones so gently you try not to cry.

You nod and flash him a smile. Or at least you try to smile and detach yourself from him. “Perfect. Let’s get those cookies baking shall we?”

Jungkook keeps looking at you with an expression which tells you he’s trying to search for something, but you try not to give anything away. Yet.

He gives you a look, his eyes sparkling under the low light in the room,

“Wait here for a second i’ll be right back”

“Where are you goi-”

“Just a second. Don’t move” His voice trails off as he goes further into the bedroom. A minute later when he comes back, there’s nothing different about him except the sneaky smile on his face. He walks towards you and grabs you by the waist as he sits you on the counter. Your hands instantly clutch his shoulders for support.

“What is happening, baby?” You mumble, clearly in a fog.

He says nothing as he gets down on his knees. Taking a hold of your right leg, he places it on his thigh. You swallow.

He looks up, clashing his eyes with yours, “You ask too many questions, do you know that?”

Seconds later he’s taking something out of his jogger pocket and a cool sensation brushes your skin. You peek down, curiosity finally killing the cat as you see a silver anklet adorned by a pink stone in the middle of it embraced around your ankles.

His name is a whisper on your lips, “Jungkook”

He gets up, facing you as he stands. But not before pecking the anklet as well as your skin. His face which earlier was eerie, now entirely soft.

“Mom sent this for you.”

You don’t hold back tears this time, letting them run free. You glance at the jewellery again as it shines under the light of the kitchen lamp. The pink stone glares at you as if it knows you’re not worthy of such a valuable item.

“It’s beautiful”

He gently wipes the tears away,

“It’s just the beginning, love. I’m not gonna stop until I see a band wrapped around your finger. I feel too lonely being the only one there.”

You playfully smack him on the chest, a giggle slipping free. With a tired shake of your head you admit, “This is overwhelming”

“What is?” he asks,

“All of this,” you keep your gaze on him, sniffing as you continue,“Your little acts of service, your love, your presence and now this gift. I feel like I’m taking too much not giving enough”

Your throat feels too tight, as if someone is just cutting off your air supply when you should be feeling free in his arms.

Jungkook’s eyebrows tense as he reaches for you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear he tries to reassure you, “Don’t say that. I hate when you question your worth,” he pecks the back of your hands, “These hands feed me, hold me when I need them to, give me warmth, gentle touches”,

His lips find both of your eyes next as you close them, feeling his soft lips on them,

“These eyes tear up with happiness every time you listen to me in the studio”,

Your ears follow next, “These ears tolerate my snoring”,

Then your lips, “And this mouth, my favourite, whispers ‘i love you’ to me every morning, leaves kisses on my skin, screams my name and most importantly, forms the loveliest smile when I make you happy.” His eyes are oh so gentle as he says this.

You’re about to respond when his phone buzzes on the counter next to you. Your heart stops. Fuck is it Dr. Ana?

To your surprise, it’s Jimin’s number on the screen.

“Pick it up, honey. It might be important.”

His thumb presses on the red button as he declines the call, “I’ll talk to him later. My girlfriend comes first.”

Neither of you say a word as the room gets filled with a comfortable silence. The cookies are long forgotten, your eyes doing all the talking. Even if you try your hardest you’re not sure you can say anything which is remotely justifiable of what he just said to you.

Jungkook is so much more than meets the eye, he’s vulnerable, he’s empathetic, he’s loving. His eyes shine the brightest when he’s happy about something and you’re so full of contempt about the fact that eventually you will be the one to snatch away that shine. This hornet’s nest is going to ruin me, ruin him.

“I wanna kiss you so bad” He whispers, leaning closer but you stop him with your palms on his chest.

“Wait, I-I want to talk about something”

His voice is downright pleading when he says, “Later baby. I’m fucking gonna die if I don’t take that mouth right now. Please?” his breath touches your bare lips.

Feeling a flutter in your chest you nod and he leans towards you, hand cupping your lower jaw as he touches his lips to yours. Softly at first, then his pace quickens. Your hands grab his sweater as you pull him even closer, deepening the kiss. His moan echoes followed by your own as you both lose yourselves in each other. You let go of every menacing thought and just focus on the taste of his lips.

He pulls back slightly, taking a deep breath as he fills his chest with air. Those beautiful lips are pink and swollen from the heated kiss you just shared with him. Getting rid of the sweater, he tosses it aside as his eyes sparkle with amusement.

Without wasting any time he begins nibbling at your neck, slightly biting onto it as your hands run over his back. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away. Not to toot your own horn but you have the most gorgeous boyfriend and you’re not ashamed to show him off.

His lips ghost over your nipples from over your high neck top and you groan.

“Jungkook, please”

He pulls back with a smug look on his face, “Please what ____?”

“Please fuck me. I need your cock so bad.”

“Yeah? Is that what my girl wants?”

At this point your body is thrumming with anticipation and desire as you watch him move his hands closer to the waistband of your pants. His hands pause when they meet the lace material, his pupils dilate.

He smiles, “It’s the one I gifted you. Were you hoping for this huh?”

Your lips stretch into a smile. You hadn’t particularly hoped for this, no, because your relationship with him is not just based on physical pleasures. You guys have sex of course, but it’s not the prominent part of the bond you share. It’s more than that. The lace lingerie set was gifted to you by Jungkook on a random day. It was one of those quote unquote just because gifts.

“What do you think?” you ask, giving him a quick kiss.

He grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you there for a moment before leaning back and looking straight into your eyes. “I think you should lose it or else I’ll ruin it”

You gasp, swatting him on the bicep. “Don’t you dare. It’s my favourite pair”

Without preamble he picks you off the counter making you wrap your legs around his waist. You both are so close it takes your breath away. Chest to chest, groin to groin, face to face with lips inches away from each other’s as you share a breath.

He walks into your shared bedroom as you clash your lips against his, pulling his lower one between yours, earning a groan out of him. You both are downright feral, letting your hands run over every area of each other’s body. Jungkook’s hands grabbing your ass, yours pulling on his hair lightly before trailing down his chest, pausing on his pecs.

When you reach your bedroom, he sits himself down with you on top of his lap. Your hips move forward and you hiss as your still jean clad pussy brushes his cock. He’s so hard you wonder if he’s close to coming already.

Rough hands scrape over your back, hips, down your thigh before they finally settle on either side of your waist, gipping them tightly but also with a hint of gentleness. One thing you admire about your man is that he doesn’t treat you like a fragile woman, he knows you’re strong and you’ll not break if he’s rough with you.

Jungkook pulls back from your lips.“Fuck honey, you’re such a goddess. Look at this body. I still can’t believe I get to call you mine”

You shake your head, totally under his spell. “I’m the lucky one here, baby. You have no idea how lucky I am.”

His hand brushes over your ass before he dips it inside your pants, reaching your already soaked pussy as he pushes a finger inside you. This earns a whimper from you as you tip your head back.

“That’s where you’re wrong, ____. Want me to show you how lucky I am?” He takes the finger out before pumping it back again. You moan as his other hand gips the nape of your neck and he brings his mouth to your neck, biting on it.

“Oh my god” you cry, seeing him suck the finger clean and face forming an expression filled with the deepest level of satisfaction as he closes his eyes.

Setting his eyes back on you, he sighs, “This isn’t my first time tasting you, honey. But it gets better every fucking time and I find myself craving you an unhealthy amount, you know that? Do you know how crazy I am for you? Could eat you out everyday and wouldn’t need anything else to feel full.” His words send a shiver down your spine. “You’re my favorite meal.”

He pushes three fingers back inside with a slight force and you let out a scream, arching your back. He takes one nipple into his mouth and gives it a long suck, letting it go with a loud pop.

“Oh yes, just like that. Suck it again, baby” You beg and he does exactly that as he takes the other sensitive bud into his mouth.

You’re not sure if you have been this vocal about your needs with anyone before him. Not that you dated a lot, for a person who’s a hopeless romantic to the core you’ve always found yourself waiting for the right one. Additionally, you believed your body to be as sacred as a temple. Surely there had to be a guy somewhere who would treat it as such.

Then, enters Jungkook who not only was out of your league metaphorically but literally. He lived miles away from your place so there was not a chance you could have let anything take place between the both of you. But as they always say, the heart wants what it wants. To put it briefly, there was chemistry, a connection you didn’t want to lose.

Strong fingers pump into you. In and out, in and out. “You’re so wet. What do you say? Should I lick you clean?”

“Yes, ah oh my goodness that’s sooo good” you toss your head back, slowly grinding against his hands.

He wraps an arm around your waist, lifts you off his lap and tosses you back on the bed. Keeping his eyes still locked with yours he gets rid of his jogger, letting his cock spring free.

It bobs and you lick your lips, already wanting to take it into your mouth but you know for a fact that he wouldn’t let you do that, not because he doesn’t want you to but because he wants to give you the highest amount of pleasure first. As he always does.

Jungkook lets out a shaky sigh as gives his cock a pull, his eyes running over your whole body. Up and down then back at your face again. You’re still not fully bare in front of him while he’s standing there, all in his glory.

“Lose the pants” he commands.

You immediately slide out of them and toss them on the floor somewhere. He grabs you by the hips, jerking you to the edge of the bed as he sinks down on his knees. Spreading your legs wider he releases a breath. Warmth touches your wet pussy and you prop yourself up by the elbows to look at him.

You need to look at him if you want to stay sane, have to feel him with you here. Shivers run through you even by the thought of not being able to feel him and this ever again. This might as well be your last day on this god awful planet from the way the ache in your chest keeps on increasing. It makes a home there, not letting you entirely forget about the eventualities.

“God you’re dripping, honey”

“For you” you admit.

Hot and wet kisses are left to the inside of your thigh and your hands find the back of his head as you grip it lightly.

His head lifts up, his eyes finding yours, “Don’t hold back,____. Grip it as tightly as you want to. I don’t want any hesitations because when I fuck you, I’m not going to be holding back. You hear me?”

A desperate moan leaves you, and he rewards you by kissing your pussy. Keeping his eyes on you, he doesn’t give you a chance to whine out your needs before his tongue is licking a single line up your clit.

He moans and gently tugs on your clit. “Such a perfect cunt”

You push his head against your pussy and rock forward, chasing your orgasm.

“Feels so good, feels so perfect, baby” you murmur.

Just when you’re starting to feel the climax incoming, when Jungkook suddenly grabs you by the waist and flips you, so he’s lying down and you’re on top. Then, he grabs you by the back of your neck, pulling you for a heated kiss.

He pulls back, “Sit on my face, my queen”

Your eyes widen and you hesitate, but you don’t want to. You wanna let go, knowing you’re lucky enough to get something like this in this lifetime, so you give in. He hoists you up by the hips, positions you over his face and pulls you down. His warm breath feels like a soft whisper against your pussy.

You cry out in pleasure as soon as his tongue dives deep inside you, squeezing your tits in your hands. Grinding against his face, you close your eyes and just… feel. Feel the heat, feel the emotions, feel the intimacy, feel the ache in your chest.

A thought crosses your head and you wonder if you’re doing something wrong, something selfish. Touching him like this and getting consumed by him feels like you’re doing nothing but ruining him.

He sucks on your clit with sheer eagerness and desire, pulling you further down so you’re putting your weight on his face. Concern perks up and you look down, trying not to crush him but it seems like he couldn’t care less.

“Let go, honey. Just focus on my mouth.”

Let go. God, how bad you hate those words. They feel like acid in your ears.

“Keep going, Jungkook. Don’t you dare stop” you cry out.

Soon enough you’re aching your back, cunt pulsing against his lips as you come. He swallows every single drop as if he’d die if he doesn’t and leaves you in awe. You slump, letting your body relax.

Much to your amusement, he doesn’t give you enough time to relax before he’s turning you over until you’re on your knees. Hot passionate kisses are placed on your sweaty back, pulling a gasp from you.

“What a fucking sight. I wish you could see how stunning you look right now and it’s all because of me, isn’t it? This glistening back, this wet cunt,” he strokes a finger down your pussy, “It’s all because of me and you dare to call yourself lucky?”

You catch a sight of him stroking himself over your shoulders and your breath quickens.

His abs are glistening with sweat and his chin still has your cum on it.

He smirks, “Like what you see, honey”

“You’re beautiful”

His eyes soften, letting his hands drop from his angry and already leaking with precum cock, he grabs either side of your hips and lines himself against your needy pussy. You let your head drop on the mattress and clench your fist, preparing yourself for him. He gives your cunt a slight slap with his cock before filling you in, groaning as he goes deeper.

You moan, “Fuck baby. That’s so deep.”

“You’re so warm, honey. You feel like home” he thrusts again.

His hands grip yours, and he covers your body with his own, still thrusting inside with rough movements. His chest feels warm and safe against your back as it fills you with a deep sense of safety, protection and love.

You match every thrust of his with your own, moving your hips backwards. Your tits are getting equal attention from him as he pinches the two sensitive buds between his fingers.

You both chase your high with you screaming out his name and him whispering yours like a prayer. He gives in one last thrust before he’s coming inside you, his teeth biting on your shoulder. You’re following him soon as you grip the bed sheet tighter in your fist, moaning as you come.

Before you collapse, he pulls you upright and lets his cock slide out of you. His fingers push his cum inside your throbbing cunt, making your stomach twist in pain.

You murmur. “I love you”

His lips stretch into one of those lazy smiles you love so much. “I love you too, my precious girl. Now, do you wanna sleep or go make those cookies?” a sloppy kiss is pressed on your forehead.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you pull him on top of you, “Should we save those for later? I really wanna cuddle”

He presses a soft kiss on the tip of your button nose, “Sure. Let me clean you up first. You don’t have to move an inch, just relax.”

Minutes later he’s coming back with a bottle of water and a bowl of marshmallows. You bite back a chuckle when you look at his face. There’s such a deep crease between his eyebrows you’d think he’s trying to win a game of uno or something.

But it’s short lived when he places the items on the nightstand and gazes at you, his eyes having the same funny look they had earlier in the kitchen.You try to summon your most unbothered and good natured grin but it doesn’t do shit to stop the electricity from running through your blood.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, biting your lip.

An uncertain laugh slips out of him, “I don’t know. I’m- God, I really don’t know but I have this weird feeling that something is not right.” He begins cleaning you up but you can’t shake the feeling of nervousness and anxiety away.

You know for a fact that he’s right. Something is not right, in fact nothing is right.

He peeks at you from between your legs, “Hey, what is it that you wanted to talk about?”

The air whooshes out of your lungs. Should you come clean? Is it the right time?

You huff a tight laugh. “It’s nothing actually. Can we talk about it later?”

When he’s done cleaning you up he places a small kiss on both your knees and stands up. Offering you a nod, he says, “Whenever you feel like it. I’m not going anywhere”

Yet. He’s not going anywhere yet.

You grin, “I wouldn’t let you”

He lets a laugh slip out as he walks inside the bathroom. Then, he comes back, settles himself beside you and brings you closer by wrapping his arm around your waist. His feet find yours as he touches the anklet with them.

“Let’s sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up” he promises.

Morning comes quickly as the sun casts its glow on your sleepy yet excited eyes. Holding out a hand, you try searching for your boyfriend next to you, but a slight sting arises in your heart when he’s not there. You open your eyes, adjusting to the sunlight.

Although, you hoped you did not wake up, you hoped death consumed you in your sleep because the person across from you is a total stranger. A stranger whose eyes are misty and mouth is pulled down in deep frown, a sunflower bouquet in one hand and the other one holding a blue file so tightly you can see his knuckles turning white.

Jungkook holds out the file to you, “How long were you planning to hide this from me,____?”

For the first time in your life, you hate your name. You hate how bitter it sounds coming from his mouth like this.It has always been “____, you’re my everything,” “I love you,____”, “_____, you mean the world to me”.

Acid bubbles in your stomach at his words, and you can’t help but sob. You wonder if the butterfly was preparing you for this day. If she could talk, what would she have said to you?

The words that leave him next might as well be daggers in your chest, "Tell me, honey. Is it the important thing you wanted to talk about but held back just to get a good fuck out of me?"

@fluttershy-vanilla @theyysam37 love you pookies. enjoy <3

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novthirty · 17 days ago

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🐦‍⬛ OUT OF BOUNDS — you get isekai-d into the n109 zone [chapter two]

synopsis — the monotony of your university days is interrupted by a stroke of misfortune, one which lands you in the world of love and deepspace, the game you had been casually playing for the previous months. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of being his personal secretary. — a continuation of the one-shot “out of bounds”

pairing — sylus x non-mc! reader

tags — reader is not mc, isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slice of life, boss/employee relationship, slow burn

a/n — this chapter did not come easily to me</33 finals has been kicking my ass but i’m near the finish line at least!! for now here is a plate of teeth rotting fluff with a side of pining 💕 taking my time to develop their relationship, since it would take a lot for sylus’s heart to be swayed by someone other than the mc. but of course we’ll be back to the full angst by the next chapter ☺️☺️

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open! series masterlist | part one | part three

chapter two: pendulum— spring blooms even in the barren cityscape of the n109 zone, and before you know it, you’ve carved yourself a place in sylus’s life. but like a pendulum stuck in perpetual motion, the two of you swing back and forth— growing closer and retreating with every movement. wc: 6.8k

The arrival of spring marks four months since you stormed into Sylus’s life, upheaving everything in your path. From the moment you quite literally landed in his world, you had been a wildcard— blindsiding him at every turn. But the first time you intentionally surprise him comes when the clock strikes twelve on April 18, and he enters his office to find a cake on his desk. Decorated in black and maroon frosting, it’s lined with edible glitter and topped with his name in crooked cursive, and a crow-shaped candle, to boot. He takes a swipe— it’s a hint of cranberry and… wine?

Moments after, you stride in from behind with Luke and Kieran, carrying gifts and wearing patterned party hats, singing a terribly off-key rendition of the birthday song.

“Happy birthday, Sylus! Make a wish!”

He blows the candles and makes a wish. (There’s only ever been one thing he’s truly desired.)

“Do you like the cake? The chefs helped me decorate it!” You say as you slice it into even triangles, giving him the largest piece.

Luxurious as his precious office may be, it’s still a tight fit with the whole Onychinus family crammed inside. Luke and Kieran occupy the side chairs while you’re perched on his desk with Mephisto on your shoulder, wearing his own red party hat. (The crow stares menacingly at the crow-shaped candle left to the wayside.) You’re sitting right in his periphery, and his eyes drag downward from your oversized sweater, down to your exposed thighs clad in only shorts. His cheeks heat up and he averts his gaze, glad that you’re all too caught up in conversation to notice.

You hop off the desk once you clear your plate, clapping your hands together, “It’s present time!”

Luke and Kieran are dramatically solemn as they hand over their present, wiping away a fake tear, “We battled against hundreds of bidders to secure this for our beloved boss.”

Sylus takes the thin present, crudely wrapped with a cartoonish dinosaur paper, unravelling it to discover a vinyl record. A vintage edition, the last one missing from his collection of a late artist, one that you had likened to someone named Frank Sinatra whenever he would play it on the office sound system.

“It’s acceptable,” He says, but the twins have been with him enough to know that it’s Sylus language for ‘Thank you for this amazing gift, I will treasure it until my dying days.’ Or at least, that’s what they tell themselves as they dramatically jump in joy.

He initially didn’t expect you to bring a present— although with your personality, he should’ve known you’d be appalled at the idea of coming empty-handed. Throughout the celebration, his eyes are immediately drawn to your uncharacteristic nervousness, which you hide well under the veneer of a joyous mood. But he can spot you fidgeting with the strings of the ribbon, the way you hesitantly place the gift on his desk. It unnerves him to see your usual force of nature dimmed, looking like a scolded puppy with your tail low and eyes sheepish.

The package is thick and lumpy in his hand, yet perfectly wrapped with a ribbon to top it off. (You wouldn’t have stood for anything less.) He delicately undoes the ribbon, carefully unwrapping the gift to find a soft knitted cardigan, with a embroidered patch of a crow sewn onto the breast pocket.

“Did you make this yourself?” He asks, looking back up at you.

“Yeah,” You answer, shifting hesitantly from your spot on the desk.

You don’t have a lot to your name in this world, and for a man like Sylus— who can summon nearly anything he desires with a snap of his fingers— there wasn’t a whole lot you could give. So instead, you resorted to your knitting needles, pouring your heart and effort into every stitch using some of the softest yarn you knew of (which took several spools of, considering his size, and made a significant dent in your wallet). But the days leading up to the surprise celebration still wracked you with nerves. Would it look too frumpy on him? Would it look too simple? Would a man who prefers opulence even appreciate such a simple gift?

But Sylus runs his fingers carefully over each delicate stitch, unable to comprehend how every inch of this cardigan was made with your own bare hands. People will bend over backwards to earn his favor, but no one has ever put so much genuine effort and care just to make him happy, on such a measly event as a birthday, no less.

He doesn’t know what to say as you await his reaction, caught off guard by the heartwarming gesture you’ve just given him. And so, he ends up detracting, “How did you get my measurements?” He narrows his eyes at you mischievously.

He spots the tick of your eyebrow as your face morphs from nervousness into annoyance. “I send in orders for your replacement clothes when they get ruined on missions,” His eyes dance with mischief as he looks away in mock skepticism. “What's that look for? How do you think I got them?!” It turns into banter— as it always does between the two of you— but inwardly, you feel relief when he wears the cardigan immediately.

The celebration is a silly endeavor that lasts no more than an hour before he kicks everyone out of his office. But try as he might, he can’t wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day— nor does he take off the cardigan.

When May comes, you rope him into the preparations for Luke and Kieran’s birthday. Due to your incessant nagging, he’s since downloaded your shared digital calendar— complete with monthly, weekly, daily, and hourly agendas— and chosen to ignore it. “The calendar exists for you to be on time,” You seethe whenever he steps into his office late, the little shit smirking as if you didn’t just rearrange his schedule to hell and back for that one hour-long meeting he missed. However, that doesn’t mean he’s exempt from any festivities you enforce upon the household.

The twins’ celebration is a significantly more chaotic affair than his, involving a two tiered cake and a booking for a laser tag arena. The event is more so you and Sylus babysitting the two hellions as they wreak havoc upon the civilians unfortunate enough to encounter them. It ends with a trip to the medical ward and a formal apology to the owner of the arena. But despite the casualties, it’s the most fun Luke and Kieran have had since they joined Onychinus. (Fun that wasn’t self-orchestrated, at least).

Your presence brings a liveliness to his found family, something that grounds you all in this high-paced line of work. A presence that, little by little, seeps into his life to the point he can no longer imagine living without it.

—————————————————————

“Is this payback for nagging you too much?” You huff after squeezing yourself into another ruffled monstrosity.

He lounges on the plush sofa like it’s his throne, swirling a glass of wine in his hands as he watches your suffering like live entertainment. He belongs here, you think, surrounded by opulence and marbled floors. A dragon surrounded by treasures.

As if it wasn’t enough that you make sure his life keeps running smoothly, Sylus recently enlightened you with the task of accompanying him to the next protocore auction. With your closet still bare of anything other than essentials, you tried to beg off the event with the excuse of having nothing to wear— only for him to drag you to a fancy boutique. You should’ve expected it from the rich bastard. “If you don’t want to go, you can just tell me. No need to make excuses,” He drawled. “It's not like you have a choice either way, Miss Secretary.”

Being raised in a middle-class household, your eyes widened at the array of extravagant dresses brought out for your perusal. The fanciest place you had been to up until now was the chain seafood restaurant down the block from your family home. The staff led you to a private dressing room, where you were now trying on a number of lavish dresses and shoes.

“Slave driver,” You cursed him under your breath, as you strapped yourself into another pair of heels behind the curtain.

“No one's forcing you to wear heels,” He calls from the lounging area, hearing your struggle. “With me by your side, you could wear pajamas and no one would dare say a word.”

You stood up, balancing yourself on the thin heel and peeking out the curtain to glare at him, “I have willpower. If you’re dragging me to a fancy auction I will not look unprofessional next to you.”

He rolls his eyes, “Sure, darling. Whatever you say.”

You muttered that to yourself for the next hour or so, I have willpower! as you tried on a number of ridiculously uncomfortable (especially for how expensive they were) garments. You believed yourself a little less with each one.

Eventually, you settle on an elegant black dress, a practical and comfortable choice that would fit multiple occasions. He insists that you could have chosen something more extravagant; but considering this was on Sylus’s card, you didn’t want to push your luck with the price tags. He goes to the cashier to pay as you’re changing, only for you to come out to thrice the number of bags.

“This is not… just the dress and heels I tried on,” Your shoulders tense, peering into the bags and spotting the other pieces you mentioned liking, as well as more luxurious everyday items you never even glanced at, considering the purpose of your trip here was for formal wear.

“I figured it would be practical. This won’t be the last event you’ll be accompanying me to, after all,” You internally withered as he smirked at you knowingly, “Besides, you did say your closet was looking bare, hm? Let's fix that.”

What you thought would be a quick trip turns into hours as he insists on buying you new clothes. “Everyone employed under Onychinus has a uniform budget,” He reasons with you.

For mission gear and weapon repairs, you want to retort. You narrow your eyes every time you come out of the changing room to see twice the number of things you initially picked out. Your discomfort only grows with each stop, every shopping bag serving as a reminder of the exorbitant costs.

By the time you get back to the compound, you intentionally look away from any receipts for your own peace of mind, instead getting to the pile of work waiting for you at home. (Home. When did this place become home?) Memorizing important guests and clients, researching proper etiquette, learning enough about protocores to not seem like a total fool at Sylus’s side. “I'm a liberal arts student, I wasn’t built for this shit,” You mutter as you flip through scientific records that look like a foreign language. You miss when protocores were just colored shapes that made your team overpowered.

Even with all the preparation you’ve done, you still find yourself wracked with nerves on the day of the auction. Though, you think you’re doing a good job of hiding it, sipping wine at Sylus’s side as he peruses the various protocores on display. Fortunately, you haven’t had to do much talking; your role so far has been taking notes and pulling up important documents when needed.

You feel out of place in the lavish ballroom, but then again, you feel out of place in this world in general. You manage to mingle and socialize with the contacts you’re familiar with, but as the hours pass you start regretting your choice of footwear. Sylus, of course, notices. “Let's take a break,” He says halfway through the night. You follow him to a lounging room, taking a seat as he leaves to grab drinks, when a man approaches you.

You vaguely know of him, having communicated with him— or rather, his secretary— through emails on official Onychinus business before. It’s a light conversation, he asks you where you’re from, why you’re here. You can tell his intentions by the way he leans forward, eyes glittering as his cologne invades your senses (You desperately try not to breathe in the overpowering scent). You decide to indulge him as you wait for Sylus to return; he seems nice enough, after all.

Right until you mention that you’re Sylus’s secretary. All of a sudden, his gaze turns steely and derisive— as if you’re no longer a prize to be won, but something beneath him. His compliments turn into insinuations of your character, “Some people really know how to… position themselves, huh?” He shamelessly takes a step closer, a lecherous grin on his face, “Maybe you should start thinking about who to… align with next.”

You’ve never been a hot-headed person. But standing here, being belittled at what’s supposed to be a formal, respectable occasion, is not something your parents ever taught you to tolerate. “Excuse me, but that is extremely rude and I'd like for you to leave this table,” You respond coldly. “My boss will be returning any time soon.”

This only fuels his disparaging comments, your fist tightening against the table as he continues to degrade you to your face. Behind the two of you, Sylus overhears everything. His fist tightens around the stem of his glass as he marches over, prepared to strike it against his head— but as always, you never fail to surprise him at every turn.

It takes one more crude comment to break the camel’s back; a woman can only have so much patience. You grab his glass and throw the wine in his face, his expression morphing into one of disbelief and anger. “Leave me alone before I find something else to throw at your face,” You spat.

The scene attracts attention from the other guests in the room as the man curses at you, pulling a gun out of his left pocket. You step back, heart bursting out of your chest at the sight of the weapon.

Before he can even aim, Sylus has already stepped in, grabbing the pistol with one hand and his neck with the other. “Ah, here I was thinking that the rules clearly stated no weapons,” His grip tightens as the man chokes in his grip, “Lucky for me, I only need my fists.”

Though it may have been lifetimes ago, Sylus's draconic tendencies still show through his temper— and less often, his desire to protect. The moment this rat intended to hurt you, his vision turned red and his fists were no longer under his control.

It takes your pleas to stop and Sylus nearly strangling the man before security steps in, called by passing onlookers who’d observed the entire incident. The man was powerful and could have gotten away with threats, maybe even plain murder, if only it weren’t Sylus that he crossed. “An insult to her is an insult to me,” He admonishes the organizers as they bow in apology after the whole ordeal. All the while, you’re shrinking underneath the piercing gazes of those who witnessed the events unfold.

The incident is enough for him to call it a night. You breathe a sigh of relief as you step outside. Though you were shivering inside the air-conditioned ballroom, the balmy air now brushes against your skin, summer humidity taking its course after a fleeting spring. Your heels clack against the pavement, feet dragging with every aching step as your new heels haven’t broken in yet. Sylus had forgone his usual motorcycle and had a private driver bring the two of you to the event, but with your early departure, you were left to walk aimlessly around Linkon City as you wait for the car.

“The event was rather disappointing, really.” He languidly commented, as if he didn’t nearly strangle a man blue.

“No shit, considering you beat someone up.” You huffed, crossing your arms and walking ahead of him. “You've been eyeing one of the protocores on their display for a while. Now your plans have been derailed—“

“Darling, if they’re not competent enough to screen their guests properly, then they have no business selling protocores.”

“But still, this man is your business associate,” Your brows furrow as you rub your forearms, goosebumps forming from the breeze passing by. “This incident is going to cause you unnecessary trouble.”

His footsteps stop, and you turn around to face him— an uncharacteristically solemn look on his face as he takes off his jacket and drapes it across your shoulders. He says your name, “He pulled a gun on you. Do not think I won't prioritize your safety above my business ventures.” The man wasn’t even worth using his evol for, succumbing pathetically to his mere grip. His lost partnership is nothing to Onychinus.

You shuffle your feet guiltily, drowning in the oversized blazer. Sylus offers his arm to you, “Come on. Let’s find somewhere to eat, shall we?”

You take refuge at a family-owned diner a few blocks down, the smell luring you in with the promise of greasy food. The two of you stick out like a sore thumb, with your floor-length dress and his suit, as some of the only customers left in the last hour before closing. The analog television in the corner drones with some football game, as you and Sylus feast on burgers and milkshakes after a night of experimental hors d’oeuvres you couldn’t even pronounce.

You’re dead at your feet, too weary to care much about your surroundings since you left the venue. To your surprise, it’s Sylus who breaks the silence, “I apologize for what happened earlier.” You look up in surprise, “You’ve been silent for the better part of the night, I didn’t realize it bothered you this greatly.”

The guilt slowly crept up on him, seeing how shaken you were after the incident. He forgets sometimes, that not everyone has been exposed to the dangers of his world. You were a civilian— and not only that, a good person. Soft and averse to violence in a way he never had the privilege to be. Though you may work for him now, it was only from the safety of the Onychinus compound, shielded from the darker elements of his job.

You smile wearily, “I'm just tired, don’t worry.” You set your burger down and fiddle with your hands, “To be honest… it did bother me. I've always been taught that violence should be a last resort, to only use as much force as the situation demands.

“But you’re right. There's a lot I don't understand about this world… but I know that if you’d stepped in a moment later, it could’ve gone much worse.” There’s more to the N109 Zone than the storyline you’d grown familiar with in your world, or the distant image you’ve formed from the safety of Sylus’s office. Like it or not, this would be your home for the foreseeable future, and you can’t live on the same moral framework you once did.

He smirks, “And what would I have done without my dearest secretary?”

You raise your milkshake snootily, “Crash and fall apart, of course.”

It eases into light banter after that, something more familiar to the both of you. At some point, you even accidentally spill sauce onto his blazer still laying atop your shoulders. “Oops, sorry,” You apologize without an inch of remorse in your voice.

He’s quick to retort, “Ah yes, my designer blazer of which there were only five made in production.”

You roll your eyes and drone sarcastically, “Oh no, the millionaire stained his limited edition jacket, boo hoo.”

“I’d like you to know—” He starts again after taking a bite of his burger, looking comically serious despite the small crumb by his cheek. You suppress the urge to wipe it off for him. “—as much as I admire your courage to stand up to a man a head taller than you, I'd rather you not throw drinks at crime lords unless I'm by your side. Not even my name could protect you if he pulled out that gun even a moment earlier.”

Though he’s managed to keep you relatively out of the spotlight, after tonight, there was bound to be more eyes on you. As much as his name affords you power and protection, it also paints a target on your back. He appreciates that you don’t stand for that kind of disrespect, but he will always put his foot down when your safety is on the line.

You take a deep breath in, looking out the window to the soft streetlights and the clear stars of a summer night. “That was really reckless of me, I know that. I appreciate that you came to my defense, and I won't do it again. It’s just that…” You turn to face him once again, giving a lighthearted shrug, “Sometimes, this whole world still feels like a dream to me. That my actions won’t matter in the end, no consequences. That any moment now, I'll wake up, and…”

You trail off. You like to avoid that train of thought when you can.

“Your presence is more important than you think,” He mutters your name. Not Miss Secretary, not darling or dear, but your name. “So, you can’t disappear on me anytime soon.” I still need you around, goes unsaid.

The clock strikes ten and the owners kick you out, “You lovebirds better get home, the trains will be running their last stop anytime soon.” Neither of you step in to correct them, bidding the elderly couple a good night.

For a minute, you’re lost in the haze of a starry sky and a full stomach, humming a song from your old world— when suddenly, you trip over a step you didn’t see, comically twisting and falling on your butt.

He starts with a chuckle and evolves into booming laughter, Sylus absolutely losing it as you pout in offense, “You’re absolutely insufferable!” You exclaim as he cackles at your attempts to get up on the thin heel of your shoe. You’ve never seen Sylus like this, even in the game. Eyes sparkling under the glow of the streetlights, bellowing with genuine uncontrollable laughter.

You begrudgingly accept his hand even as he uses the other one to wipe his tears. “It was not that funny,” You huff— but his laugh is so ridiculous you can’t help but giggle. You continue walking, his hand never leaving yours.

Midsummer is marked by the longest days of the year, of perpetual sunshine and the drone of cicadas. The N109 Zone was anything but that, the total antithesis to what was once your home. But under this night sky— surrounded by good food and good company, the weight of his stare and his hand clutched in yours— you think that maybe, just maybe, nights could be enough for you, as well.

—————————————————————

Over the blinding camera flashes and the roar of jeering crowds, you hold tight to the bouquet in your arms, jumping and cheering for Sylus even though you have absolutely no clue what’s going on.

It was a few days before that you stepped into his private boxing ring and found out about his upcoming match. “I don't know why I'm surprised. I bet no one knows it's actually the big bad Onychinus leader up there in the ring. You probably have some stage name, no? Something corny like dragon or crow.” His deadpan stare tells you all you need to know, “How original.”

Despite your less than enthusiastic response, like a proud parent, you still show up to the day of the match with a bouquet and a vintage camera you scavenged from the compound. “Smile for the picture!” You holler from outside the rope as he wraps his fist in tape, a deadpan stare meeting the flash.

“What are you doing here?” He jumps the rope to meet you at the sidelines, the stands slowly filling in behind you, “This isn’t in your job description, you know.”

“I know that? I scavenged through that contract for any loophole to get out of your auctions, just so you know,” You scoffed, setting your bag down with a thump on the grimy cement floors. " Of course I'm gonna be here, it’s your match!” You blabber on about the flowers, how they’re supposed to mean fortune and good luck. But his thoughts are otherwise occupied.

He had thought this might be a little… juvenile, for you, watching two grown men beating each other up for a medal and prestige. It seems like an activity you’d be distasteful of, but you’re here, you showed up and… are decked with all sorts of essentials, apparently. He peers into the bag to find a first aid kit fit for war, enough towels to supply a family, an electric fan, all stuffed inside a misleadingly small tote bag. His heart stutters in his chest. Not even the twins or Mephisto attend his matches.

When the event officially starts, you stay at his corner the whole time; from his pre-fight rituals to pep-talking during downtime, dabbing at his sweat and blasting an electric fan over him as the coach reams his ass. His own personal cheerleader supporting him from outside the ring (never mind the fact you couldn’t tell whether he was winning or not).

It’s hard to watch, having to cringe and look away as Sylus gets brutally socked in the face, blood splattering out of his mouth as the crowds yell to finish him. It’s even harder to watch him in the locker room afterwards, head down and pride bruised.

“Let me patch you up,” You take a seat on the bench, dabbing a cotton with ointment to his split lip. You know his evol will heal everything by the time he gets home— but some bruises bloom where no one can see.

“My knuckles may be bruised, but I'm not incapacitated,” He glares at you as you bring out the ladybug-patterned bottle of ointment. Hmph. You thought it was cute. “Don’t you have more important things to do than play nurse?” His words cut more than usual, a light blow to your ego but you stand your ground.

“Unfortunately, my boss took the day off to go participate in modern day bloodsport. So no, actually. I don't have anything better to do.” You roll your eyes, twisting the bottle closed.

“Well, you must be disappointed. You’ve wasted your day off placing bets on a losing dog.”

He can’t hide the bitter taste in his mouth, not when he still hears the jeers of the crowd, still feels the pounding headache from being pummeled on the floor. His ambition has always been both his trump card and Achilles heel, and he wants nothing more than to push your comfort and reassurance away. (He doesn’t feel he deserves it.) But as always, you read him like a book.

“Hmph. Who says I bet on you?” You cheekily suggest.

He scoffs in offense, “I suggest you stop talking if you’d like to receive your paycheck intact.”

You smile and roll your eyes. There’s your Sylus. “It's still my job to be there, win or lose. Not as your secretary but as your friend. If it helps—“ You poke his cheek. “—you’re still my big, bad, scary boss. Even if I just witnessed you get beaten to a bloody pulp.”

He's so focused on watching you pack your things, that you startle him when you wrap your arms around him. He stiffens; it’s been far too long since he experienced physical contact that wasn’t drenched in violence. But he relaxes into it, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. “Come on, let’s go home.”

—————————————————————

The nights are endless and tiresome as your insomnia persists, but as months pass by with no sign of returning to your world, you learn ways to cope.

On some evenings, you decide to sneak into the kitchen, pulling out flour and eggs for all sorts of midnight snacks. It reminds you of a simpler, albeit more stressful time; taking a break in the wee hours of the morning, setting aside your notes to make comfort food with your roommate.

Sylus eventually discovers your nighttime activities, slipping into the kitchen to find you covered in flour, making enough cookies to feed an army. “It seems like a rat has snuck into the kitchen,” He teases, “You do realize we have private chefs on call, right? You could have ordered food if you were hungry.” Despite his words, he still rolls up his sleeves and grabs the bowl from your hands, mixing a stubbornly resistant batch of batter.

You silently accept the help and move on to shaping the cookies. With his help, the treats are in the unnecessarily massive oven and freshly baked within the next hour. The two of you spend the rest of the evening indulging in freshly baked cookies and talking about everything from work to the surprising amount of gossip intel you’ve accumulated about his business associates, until he asks you why you’re up this late.

“I was hungry,” You shrug, but he raises an eyebrow, knowing full well that you’re not telling the truth. You sigh, “You already know I have trouble sleeping. At least this way my hands are occupied..." These days you can’t even fall asleep at all, succumbing to deep exhaustion mere hours before your shift.

It hadn’t escaped Sylus’s notice, the way your eyebags have deepened, your movements sluggish and back hunched, even though your work remains the same quality. He'd insisted once, that you take a day off, but you’d laughed and said, “And do what? Explore the lovely sights of the N109 Zone?”

“As an employee of Onychinus, you have full access to the medical ward. You can schedule a doctor’s consultation, if that’s what you need,” He carefully suggests.

“That would be nice,” You answer noncommittally. You don’t know how much medicine differs between your world and his, but you probably have to get that done eventually.

The two of you clear a whole tray of cookies, leaving another for Luke and Kieran to feast on in the waking hours and cleaning the kitchen upon your insistence. “We have cleaners who can take care of this in the morning,” He complains.

“Hush, that would be rude,” You admonish him and place a rag in his hands. He sighs and wipes the counter anyway.

You bid him goodnight, but make no move to go to your bedroom, instead sitting at the counter scrolling through your phone. He clicks his tongue, and much to your surprise, pulls you by the arm, “What– Hey! The hell are you doing?”

“It seems I need to resort to physical force to make you rest,” He drags you down the dimly lit hallways and into your room. He hasn’t been inside of it since it was just an empty spare, collecting dust for the past years. But as the door swings open, it’s practically unrecognizable. Every nook and cranny is filled with traces of your presence; books stacked on the floor, a sweater slung over a chair. It fills him with reassurance that you’ve made yourself at home, even if you still feel out of place in this world.

“You didn’t have to manhandle me into bed,” You pout, and slightly warm when you realize the potential innuendo in your words. “I’m not a child.”

“You certainly act like one sometimes,” He retorts, “Should I sing you a lullaby?”

“Oh god, no, please—“ He smirks at the horror on your face.

“Rockabye baby, on the tree top,” His voice croaks out shakily, in complete contrast to the absolute confidence and mischief on his face as he taunts you. You burrow yourself underneath the blankets, “When the wind blows, the cradle will—“

“Stop! Please boss, stop the torture!” You dramatically call out from beneath the covers, kicking your feet, “I'll sleep if it means i never have to listen to that again.” You glare at him with the pillows pressed to your ears.

He barks out a laugh, with a surprising lack of offense at the blatant insult towards his musical capabilities. “That better be a promise,” He bids you goodnight, shutting the door and closing the lights on his way.

As he comes down from the midnight sugar rush and the warmth of good company, he thinks, when was the last time he could laugh so easily around a person?

—————————————————————

It becomes a somewhat regular occurrence between the two of you. Whenever the urge to bake strikes, you can expect that Sylus will be wandering in soon after, alerted by either the clanging of cookware or the smell wafting through the corridors. The kitchen becomes a refuge on sleepless nights, the two of you working in perfect synchronization with each other. Whenever you finish, he waves off your stubbornness and walks you to your room, making sure you don’t wander off again in avoidance of slumber.

One night, he comes home from a week-long mission gone slightly wrong. What was supposed to be an infiltration of the enemy base turned into a battle of bullets, as he quickly realized that the reconnaissance team’s information was wrong. Though the opposing side was dealt a bigger blow, he’s a little more than worse for wear, dragging his feet inside the compound, knuckles bruised and stomach rumbling. It’s one of those days where he wonders the point of it all. Where everything has gone wrong, and he wants to do nothing but hibernate, the sleep deprivation and lack of real food finally getting to him despite his resilience.

His streak of misfortune continues when his phone chimes with a text, the chef on duty informing him of a family emergency. Sylus grants him a day off with a sigh, and sets off to the kitchen to make the easiest meal he can think of right now.

You find a pathetically exhausting sight when you enter the kitchen: Sylus covered in cuts and bruises, hair ragged and bloody, chopping vegetables with the pace of a snail. You want to slam your head into the wall. “Sylus, you haven’t even changed out of your mission gear. What the hell are you doing in the kitchen?” You ask, intent on taking over but he steps away.

“The chef has taken a day off, so we’re on our own,” He continues chopping without so much as a blink of an eye.

You sigh, “It doesn’t have to mean you’re on your own. Come on, Sylus. You just got off a long mission. Let me take over,” You try pushing against him, to which he doesn’t even budge but you spot the way he winces when you press against his shoulder. “We cook together all the time, anyway. Go get cleaned up while I finish here.”

It’s a painstakingly long back and forth between the two of you until he begrudgingly agrees to leave. By the time he comes back, freshly showered and wearing the cardigan you gave him (now one of his favorite pieces), you have not only the salad prepared but one of his favorite dishes on the stove. There’s enough for Luke and Kieran to join, “Something smells good!” Two heads pop into the kitchen as soon as the food is prepared, “I thought we were fending for ourselves tonight!”

The four of you eat together at the dining room; it’s not a sight often seen in the compound, with how busy everyone is. But grief washes over you with the familiarity of it all, a family sitting down to have a meal together. You know it’s a privilege only you have experienced at this table, and your heart aches that they have never known it. And so, you try to bask in the coziness of a home cooked meal and good company.

“Miss Secretary, we’ve been meaning to ask,” Kieran begins after they finished recounting their recent mission, “How did you get here? I mean, we know that you came from another world and all… But how did you manage to get here? Did you mean to?”

Bless their hearts, the twins have seen so much in their life that not even the idea of other worlds can shake their curiosity. You appreciate how he carefully approaches the topic, even if you can see the eagerness plain as day on both their faces. So, as much as you don’t like to linger on this topic, you decide to indulge them.

“No, I didn't mean to go here. In fact, I didn't even know it was possible. My world– while different– was far less developed than yours,” You delve into a sanitized version of what happened to you. A silly incident that led to you waking up in the N109 Zone, dimensions away from your own world with no way to return. You keep the anxiety hidden beneath the surface, surprised at your own ability to hide your grief.

By the time you finish, the twins have even more questions— most of which you can’t answer, except one, “Are you going to go back?”

Beside you, Sylus’s heart stutters in his chest. He can't say he hasn’t thought about it before, that he’s never considered the possibility of you leaving his life just as you had carved your place in it. But he’s never had to confront the reality of whether you even wanted to be in his life. After all, you were alone in this world with nowhere to go. What other choice did you have but to stay with him?

“Well, the question is more about if I can,” You smile bitterly. “I've scoured most of Onychinus’s resources, but there’s nothing similar to my case. And it’s not like I'm a scientist who can figure this out with time, so…” Your voice trails off in disappointment, the topic growing cold as you run your fork against the scraps left on your plate.

It hurts him to see the look on your face, the hopelessness in your tone. He never lingered on the thought of how much it must hurt you, to be so far away from your home. It follows you until after dinner, when he insists on washing the dishes, “I can’t make the cook clean as well,” He says, yet you still linger on the island counter, staring into space.

“You'll always have a place here,” He reminds you, breaking you from your reverie. He’ll never let himself be soft for just anyone— but his guard tends to melt in the face of your presence. You look up at him in surprise, “Although you once said it’s only until you return to your world, you’ll always have a place in Onychinus. So long as you want it.”

What goes unsaid is how he cannot imagine his life without your presence. Without the post-it notes on his monitor, waiting for him at the start of each day. Without the incessant reminders you’ve somehow managed to link to his phone. (A part inside of him screams about a deeper loss; of nights spent under kitchen lights, of soft knits and your perfume permeating the office space, of your warm smile at the end of a cold, hard day.)

A soft, genuine smile transforms your face. “Thank you,” You whisper, heart still raw from recounting the most traumatic event of your life.

The sleep deprivation must be getting to him, he thinks. Under the warm kitchen lights with soft melancholy in your eyes, he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. He’s filled with a strong urge to lean forward just a little more, to close the distance and place his lips on yours— before he shuts his eyes tight. He shakes his head. What is he thinking? Kissing you when you’re vulnerable, kissing you when his ex-lover still lingers in his mind each day. But he can’t deny that slowly but surely, you’ve crept into his thoughts, occupying his mind more than he would like to admit.

He longs for this domesticity he’s never known until now; cooking and cleaning together, taking care of each other at your lowest moments. He can see this being forever and that thought scares him. On this warm summer night, the last of the sunshine before the autumn cold sweeps in— he thinks, once again, of the lover that was taken from him. Of the lifetimes he’s waited for her to return, for them to live the soft life they were robbed of. But his heart is nudging him to the possibility of something new, something so precious; and he wonders when the day will come where he must make a choice.

—————————————————————

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lightseoul · 3 months ago

Text

CHAPTER 9 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 7.4k (hoo boy. i did say i would end this with a bang. i wrote and edited this in two days.)

tags. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of food, mentions of physical & mental health issues, explicit...themes. y'all see for yourselves what those are

a/n. and here we are. a little over two months since i posted the masterlist in the hopes that it would motivate me to see this series through, and i actually did it!!! i poured my heart and soul into this chapter, specifically, so i hope you enjoy it and find it a great way to wrap up the story. see the end for a message <3

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the sound of a honk—a blaring sound that you think can only be from one of those humongous passenger buses that circle the city.

Except they never really pass by your neighborhood—your apartment being located in the outer peripheries of Musutafu.

So why, all of a sudden, are you hearing these noises?

Wasn’t it just recently that you shot up awake like this?

Clenching your eyes back closed, you shake your head vigorously. The dull thumping that stretches from your parietal straight to your frontal lobe is unmistakable, such is the dryness of your throat. You look to your left, letting out a sigh of relief when you see a glass of water on the nightstand. You quickly grab it and take a sip, finally eyeing your surroundings as you do so.

The room is dim—the city lights emanating through the window the only source of illumination within the four walls, enough to cast a faint glow on what you’re now sure is Bakugou’s bedroom. You’ve only been here one night, but the plush mattress beneath you feels familiar, and you’re a hundred percent sure that’s your suitcase in the corner right next to his wardrobe. The wardrobe where he retrieved the futon…last night?

You shift to be on all fours, wincing to a halt when your back screams in protest at the motion. You try to rotate your neck next, grateful when all you feel is a slight strain and a sting—like you’ve got some bruising at the front. The rest of your body seems to be working alright—fatigued, yes, but not enough to cause you a new wave of pain with every maneuver.

And so with that thought, you slowly crawl toward the foot of the bed, right until you catch a glimpse of the said futon. It’s somewhat undone—arranged exactly how you think Bakugou left it the morning of the mission. Well, how you two left it. You remember accidentally stepping on it once or twice while trying not to invade Bakugou’s personal space as you simultaneously got ready, making a mental note to fix it before you left.

You guess you never got to. Apparently, neither did Bakugou.

Which only means one thing.

It’s still D-Day.

Only then do the events from earlier today come flooding at you, and you find yourself stumbling out the door, barefoot and maybe still a little too out of it to be rushing like this.

Regardless, you burst out of the room—fully expecting the twins to be there—although you’re not hit with a sobering visual confirmation, nor are you hit with a menacing glare followed by a ripping out of your tracker, which you note has already disappeared from its spot in the middle of your chest.

Instead, what hits you is the heady yet comforting smell of ramen broth.

You glance in the direction of the kitchen, and sure enough, Bakugou’s standing there—decked out in lounge clothes under an apron with a ladle in one hand—staring at you, surprised.

“Hey,” he finally gets out after a beat of immobility, before facing back toward the stove and turning down the heat. “You’re awake.”

You nod, although he doesn’t see it with his back turned against you. You pad toward the kitchen as quietly as you can, stopping a few feet away from him where he looks so normal, like he didn’t just wrestle a murderer a couple of hours ago.

What the hell is going on?

Bakugou glances over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question—and it just dawns on you that you said that last bit out loud—before spinning to fully face you again.

“You had an anxiety attack,” he says as a matter of factly, and you feel yourself flame. “They told me to take you home after they did first aid on the both of us.”

So, he got hurt, too.

You tamp down the shame from your breakdown and note the bandage on his cheek, right where his scar is.

Still, it’s not exactly the two of you who you’re most concerned about right now…

You gulp, willing yourself to hold Bakugou’s gaze. “What about Masaki?” you ask. “D-did he—make it?”

At that, Bakugou sighs, and it’s enough for you to know the answer. Despite yourself, you feel a surge of guilt wash over your body.

“He was rushed to the hospital,” the pro-hero explains, solemn, “But he didn’t make it.”

And when you don’t say anything: “It’s not your fault, Y/N. You didn’t kill him,” he huffs, “I did.”

You shake your head decisively, before tossing him a stern look. “You did what you had to do.”

Bakugou stares at you for a second, an inexplicable expression on his face, although you don’t get to study it further because you look away first. “Did you know he was a consul?” you inquire, suddenly feeling the obligation to change the topic.

Bakugou turns, once again busying himself with the stove. “I heard.”

You pull a stool from underneath the kitchen island and hoist yourself up into it. “Explains why he was never around in the headquarters.”

“Explains why he was never home, either,” he piles on.

You feel your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently, he just went through a divorce and lost custody of his daughters to his ex-wife, who that guy Hiroto described to have a pretty weak quirk. Said the man always had supremacist views, but changed for the worst when the woman filed a case against him.”

Huh.

“Speaking of quirks,” Bakugou continues, stirring the broth, “I’m sure you figured it out, but his was called retaliate. He could absorb attacks, especially explosions, and redirect them with—”

“Double the power, yeah,” you finish for him.

“Quadruple if he’s feeling confident—an ironic clause for a relatively meek guy like him,” Bakugou remarks. “Explains why he still took you with him despite suspecting we were doing something behind his back. He needed your luck and was planning to blackmail you into boosting him.”

That makes you frown. “But they didn’t figure out it was actually manipulation, did they? He mentioned luck to me, too. In the car, before we went into the building.”

“No, they didn’t,” comes Bakugou’s cool response. “Masaki and the rest still thought it was luck, just that you may have been using it beyond their instruction. Plus, at that point, they already had my bombs, so they could easily dispose of me and use my life as leverage to get you to do what they said.”

Bakugou reaches for one of the condiments in the rack, lightly shaking the contents out of the container and into the soup. “Explains why they told me last night to follow suit and get dressed in normal clothes. Didn’t matter that I’d be easily identified in them—I was never gonna get to the Prime Minister’s Office anyway.”

That fucking reminds you. “Where did that bastard even take you?”

At that, Bakugou stiffens. “An industrial-grade refrigerator,” he mutters.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he spews, perhaps a bit miffed. You can tell he’s not enjoying talking about this. “I was bolted in, and Kouki disappeared before I could wrangle him into letting me out.”

You can only gawk at him as he drawls on. “Took me a while to gather enough sweat for one massive blow to break the lock.”

“H-how?” you manage to croak out.

“Push-ups,” he answers curtly, still stirring. “I lost count at around 300.”

He takes your stupefied silence as a sign to continue.

“After that, I figured the old geezer couldn’t have gotten me too far—otherwise, he would’ve depleted his capacity to conduct mass teleportation if things went south for them. I boosted myself up to get an aerial view and find a landmark, and got going when I did.”

“Were you still wearing your tracker?” you can’t help but probe.

“I had to,” Bakugou responds, “If I wanted him to come to me. When he found out I was on the move, he teleported to where I was—probably to teleport me to my death, leverage be damned—but I was faster, and he couldn’t catch up.”

“I blasted him unconscious before he could retreat and bring everyone else with him,” Bakugou says as he takes what looks to be a lid and puts it over the pot, leaving a small gap for the steam to come out. “He’s in custody now. Shitty hair’s talking to him as we speak.”

At the mention of the redhead’s nickname, you straighten up. “How is he? And Sero?” you say so quickly you almost stumble over your words, “Are they okay?”

“Yeah,” comes his prompt retort, and you find your shoulders sagging in relief. “The twins put up a fight, but they eventually had them wrapped in Sero’s tape and chased you to the elevator. But then somebody pulled the fire alarm and they got stuck.”

“It was Masaki,” you swiftly supply. “He did it just as he hauled me out of the elevator.”

Again, you watch as Bakugou visibly tenses, but he doesn’t say anything. At least, for a moment, before he sighs.

“Yeah, well, they couldn’t get out for a while because the system needed manual operation to send the elevator back to ground floor, and nobody was around to do it. They couldn’t smash their way out of there, either. Could’ve caused the entire thing to crash down.”

“Wasn’t there any other hero besides them?”

“No,” Bakugou says almost regrettably as he takes the bowl of uncooked noodles into his hands. “They thought I’d be there just as planned, so they assigned the rest of the pro-heroes involved to the rest of the schools.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “I guess that explains why they went for the twins first instead of Masaki. Maybe they thought you’d be there to handle him?”

“No, they had eyes on you,” he corrects, just as he pours the noodles into the soup. “Shitty hair said they prioritized the two because they seemed stronger than Masaki. His packing that much fucking strength came as a shock to everyone.”

You chuckle dryly. “Even you, right?”

He grunts, unamused. “Even me.”

You let yourself sit in silence as Bakugou continues to tend to what he’s cooking. It goes on like this for a little while, before it hits you belatedly.

“Did anyone else get hurt?” you suddenly ask, “You know, aside from Masaki?”

“None, unless you count property damage,” he quips, and you let out a half-hearted laugh. You can hear him smirking when he adds: “Luckily, Kirishima and the others had enough foresight to evacuate the place entirely.”

“I’m guessing you know how they did it?”

At that, Bakugou nods. “…Although, I can’t say I agree with it.”

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“They used government surveillance information to send targeted texts to the potential victims—parents on behalf of the students, staff, employees,” he reveals, voice low. “Something about a suspension that they needed to be quiet about for their safety. Except the guards, who had to be there at the entrance.”

“But—”

“That would’ve meant Masaki and the twins would receive the message, too, I know,” he interjects. “Good thing I managed to put their names on that piece of paper. Otherwise, we would’ve been fucked.”

“No shit,” is the only thing you can mumble, head reeling from the revelation just now.

“…We barely made it, huh?” he rejoins, quiet.

“Yeah…” you reply.

A pause.

Then—

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out of the blue, startling Bakugou. You refuse to meet his gaze, though, even as you continue. “For losing it back there.”

At that, Bakugou whips to look at you, and you have no choice but to look up at him. “Hah?”

“I didn’t think I’d use everything up, and it’s been so long since I last depleted my quirk like that,” is the only thing you can get out.

You let your eyes fall to your enjoined hands in front of you. “I couldn’t control myself. I’m…sorry.”

Another pause.

“Tsk.”

Your eyes widen at the unexpected sound, and despite yourself, you find your line of vision going back to Bakugou, who’s now scowling at you.

“The only thing you should be sorry for is that unnecessary as shit apology,” he spits, before turning back to the stove. “Now, come on. Help me with the plates.”

You do just as Bakugou says and assist him.

You end up situating the placemats and cutlery just as he finished up the dish, serving it not even a few minutes later in a luxurious-looking, suspiciously Todoroki-esque bowl that you’re sure costs more than a well-functioning arm.

You try to ignore it as you navigate yourself in his kitchen, although it eventually becomes apparent that a peculiar kind of tension lingers in the air still, but you figure it’s not entirely unfathomable.

It’s only been a few hours, after all.

You repeat this like an incantation in your head—again and again until it somehow sticks—even as you quietly say your thanks and dig in. Not one word is uttered in between spoonfuls of food, the silence reminiscent of yesterday’s dinner—even though yesterday now feels like a whole month ago.

At least, that’s what you were thinking, until a booming voice erupts throughout the room, entirely juxtaposing the earlier stillness. You startle, then ease up when you realize it’s All Might’s, and that it’s merely a ringtone. Bakugou scrambles to fetch his phone from the island, although whatever urgency he had just now goes out the window when he sees the caller ID.

“It’s Asahi,” he grumbles.

You hurriedly swallow your noodles. “Aren’t you gonna answer that?”

Bakugou glares at his phone for another second before shaking his head and turning it off, walking back toward you.

“Isn’t he gonna get mad?” you ask just as he reseats himself.

“We’ve been on duty for over two weeks,” Bakugou snarls, picking back up his chopsticks. “He can kindly go fuck himself.”

That makes you snort, which earns you a smirk, although his face falls almost immediately after.

You swallow the discomfort that shoots to your throat at the sight of it.

You try not to get caught, but you secretly sneak glances for the rest of the meal, and only by the end of it do you notice that his hair’s gone back to its normal, unruly state—probably due to a shower that he took after you got home.

That, and there’s definitely something weighing him down.

You just don’t know what.

You don’t attempt to comment on it as you help him clean up the plates, or even as you start drying the dishes after he washes them beside you. He doesn’t try to start a conversation, either, focus seemingly trained solely on the task in front of him, although you know better than to believe what your eyes are telling you.

It’s that thought that ultimately emboldens you to speak up a few minutes in.

You clear your throat, eyeing him as subtly as you can. “…Something on your mind?”

To your dismay, he doesn’t answer you, only passing a plate without sparing you a single glance.

Well, then.

Despite yourself, you feel yourself deflate at his snubbing.

You had your doubts about coming forward and asking him, although that’s when the memories of the things you had to go through together came in and you thought he’d trust you enough to share—but you guess you’re getting ahead of yourself, because there’s no way he’d—

“You used your quirk on me, didn’t you?

You freeze, all thoughts wiped out from your brain.

You feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare turn to look at him, nor do you open your mouth.

He turns away, nodding. “I knew it.”

Fuck this.

“People don’t normally notice—” you blurt, and he shifts to face you again, “—when I use it on them.”

You scratch at your cheek, feeling weirdly restless. “I think it’s only because you’re perceptive to begin with, and because you know about me and what I can do.”

“Why’d you do it?” is his immediate response, catching you off guard. You splutter, although—to your chagrin—he only raises an eyebrow at you, expression nothing less than expectant.

What the hell are you supposed to say other than the truth, then?

“Fine,” you hiss, pulling your lips into a thin line. “It was because I noticed you were getting frantic.”

At that, Bakugou’s eye twitches. “You calling me sloppy?”

“No!” you exclaim, then backtrack. “I was just—I just did what my instincts told me…”

And really, you did.

That’s all you could’ve done in that situation, for a person with your experience.

And you’re about to expound on that to a skeptical Bakugou when, to your surprise, he nods.

“Good call,” he mutters so silently, but you hear it anyway, and your eyes widen.

You must be gaping at him like he just said you are the greatest person to have ever graced the earth because he immediately looks away, embarrassed, a sudsy bowl still in hand.

“It’s stupid,” he continues, and you barely clock him having resorted to aggressively toeing his house slippers—the pair you bought for him. “I’ve never really lost my cool like that before.”

Now, that you’re not sure of.

Still, you force out a decent reaction.

“R-really?”

You’re instantly granted with a side-eye. “Don’t sound so fucking shocked.”

“It’s not that—” you choke, “It’s just that—”

“I have a short temper, I know. Sue me,” he spews, shutting you up.

“But I never let that get in the way of my work,” Bakugou pushes, suddenly serious. “Never.”

You frown, placing the plate you’ve been holding in the drying rack. “Well, they did fool us by separating us last minute,” you offer just as you look back at him, “I’d be pissed, too, getting betrayed like that.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything in reply, opting to stare at you—borderline scowling—for what feels like a minute. He eventually sighs, and you find yourself mentally sighing at the break in eye contact as he puts down the dish he was in the middle of washing.

But then he turns to you again, face blank, and says the strangest thing.

“Tell me. Are you playing with my emotions right now?”

“What?” you cry, “No! Why would you even—”

You’re cut off when—without warning—Bakugou coaxes the towel from your hand and takes a step close, invading your space.

“Good,” he rumbles, voice low and gruff as he leans even closer. “Just wanted to make sure.”

That’s all the warning he gives you before he grabs your neck and dives in, pressing his lips firmly against yours. You instantly shut down at the contact, your body going rigid against his just like when he kissed you out of the blue this morning. But unlike earlier today, you don’t relax, and he must’ve sensed it, because he quickly pulls away, the hand that was just on your nape now resting on your shoulder.

“Shit,” Bakugou curses, a mortified look on his face. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“No!” you interject, “I mean, it’s okay. It’s just…”

“Just what?” he breathes out, releasing you from his hold, and you don’t know if you’ve finally gone crazy, but did he just sound…hopeful?

No, he didn’t.

Which is why you muster up the courage to say the next thing.

“You’re just confused,” you finally get out, looking him straight in the eye.

His reply is instant.

“Believe me, I’m fucking not.”

That makes you frown, because why is he giving you such a hard time? You’re giving him an out, for god’s sake. A wake-up call, if you will.

That none of these is real.

And that he’s confusing make-believe with reality.

These very thoughts must be evident on your face because he studies you closely for a bit, a similar frown etched on his features. He then shakes his head, the same way he does when he’s getting impatient.

“You don’t believe me?” he finally says, and you’re about to say no, you do not, when he suddenly takes a step closer, and you find yourself stumbling back.

“What if,” another step forward for him, another one backward for you, “I tell you that I’ve been wanting to kiss the crap out of you, even when no one’s watching?”

Yet another step, and he finally stops. “Especially when no one’s watching.”

You can’t help it—you sputter, and to that, Bakugou only flashes you a devilish smirk. “Nothing?” he taunts, “You’ve got nothing to say?”

“J-just kiss?”

The second you say it, you know you fucked up.

His crimson eyes widen in surprise. “I mean, I want to fuck you, too, but—”

“No!” you cry, and he shuts up, “I mean, not like that. What I meant was, is this thing you’re feeling purely physical? Not that I think I’m all that—” you quickly disclaim, “—but is there something else, or…?”

At that, the motherfucker chuckles, and you’ve got half a mind to bury yourself in the very ground you’re standing on. But then you remember you’re on the top floor of a high-rise building, so that would only mean—

“I want to date the crap out of you, too, dumbass.”

“…Oh.”

A raised eyebrow. “Just ‘oh’?”

You flush. That was too soon of a reference.

Still, you have to respond.

“Oh, as in, oh, great,” you croak, “Because, believe it or not, I feel the same way.”

You can only watch in delight as Bakugou releases a breath you think he didn’t know he was holding, utter relief written all over his body. There’s no controlling the smile that breaches your mouth at the sight of it, earlier’s dreadful anticipation now morphing into a hoard of rabid butterflies. Bakugou sees the change in your countenance and grins.

“Does this mean I get to kiss you now? And that you won’t just stand there like a fucking corpse?”

That earns him a punch to the arm, which he takes in stride, laughing. “Can’t you just do it without teasing me?” you grumble, “You’re such a dickhead.”

“Got it, princess,” is the last (pestering) thing he says before reaching for your neck again and pulling you toward him, wasting no time in bringing your lips to his.

It doesn’t elude you that you’re still somewhat tense, but you eventually manage to will yourself to ease up just as his other hand shoots up to hold your cheek, tilting it so he can deepen the kiss. You can’t help it—you groan when he does, and he takes that as an opportunity to slowly enter your mouth with his tongue, and you squeak at the intrusion. He only laughs at that, but he doesn’t let up, his tongue seemingly having a mind of its own as it swirls and explores without restraint.

You don’t know how long this goes on—your brain filled with nothing but the sensation of Bakugou’s soft lips against yours—but he eventually pulls away, and you have to stop yourself from ogling at how debauched he looks with just his flushed face and swollen lips. You guess you aren’t any different, because Bakugou’s eyes rove over your face—hungrily—almost as if he’s drinking you in.

“You’re a good kisser,” you offer lamely, desperate for anything to fill the tense air.

At that, he coughs, as if he didn’t expect you to say that of all things. “T-thanks. You, too.”

You flash him a grateful smile, although it’s quick to falter.

A beat.

“So…” you try again, “What now?”

Bakugou looks down at his feet, suddenly shy. “I—uh, meant it, you know.”

You gulp. “Meant what?”

“That I want to fuck you.”

Shit.

“But I understand if you don’t want to, or if that’s moving too fast. It’s only been two weeks and—”

“Correction,” you cut in, “It’s been over two weeks. You said so yourself.”

That makes Bakugou pause, who only looks at you in bewilderment. “What are you trying to—”

“I’m ready,” you declare, voice nothing short of sure. “I want this.”

That seems to set something off in the pro-hero, because his entire demeanor shifts. You don’t get to comment on it before he’s back on you in an instant, encasing your lips in a searing kiss. You stagger back from the sheer force alone, grabbing onto his shirt for purchase as you stumble across the living room, not parting ways for even a second, his mouth hot against yours. He seizes you by the waist just as you almost crash into the wall, expertly maneuvering you through the door and into his bedroom, lips still molded together.

He only pulls away when you reach the foot of his bed, letting go of his grip on you to lift you bridal-style, the brazen display of effortless strength sending a shot of arousal into your veins. You loop your arms around his neck as he climbs over the mattress, inching toward the headboard before gently placing you down into the pillows. You waste no time pulling him back closer to you, initiating the kiss this time, and you think he must like that, judging by the way he groans quietly.

“What,” you mumble against his lips, “You like it when I take charge?”

“Fuck off,” he mumbles back, although he doesn’t break away, only biting your lower lip as if in punishment. You wince, but he’s quick to lave over it with his tongue. “Hurry up and—” a kiss, “—take off—” another kiss, “—mm—your clothes.”

That makes you laugh. Of course, he’d order you to strip after just cussing you out.

You don’t complain, though, lightly shoving him away so you can pull your shirt over your head. You glance at Bakugou when it’s off of you, and sure enough, he’s staring at your chest.

“Aren’t you gonna undress as well?” you ask pointedly, hoping your embarrassment isn’t showing on your face.

“Shit, right,” he blubbers, and you find yourself smiling as he hurries to take off his shirt.

Only that smile doesn’t get to last for too long before it’s instantly replaced with an ‘o’ at the sight of his ridiculously defined abs.

You point to it, honestly perturbed. “How the fuck is that even possible?”

Now that makes him laugh, the motion causing his abdominal muscles to flex and you blanch. “What if I tell you I’ve had them since high school?”

“Liar.”

Bakugou grins. “Had you known, would you have forced me to listen to your confession?”

“That’s it,” you make a move to get out of the bed but he tugs you back, flashing you a boyish smile that you don’t want to admit makes you—kinda—all weak in the knees.

“That was the last one,” he promises, still grinning, “I swear.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why do I feel like you’re lying straight out of your ass.”

“Me?” he asks, feigning innocence as he crawls closer, towering over you again until you’re back to lying on the bed. “Never.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, looking anywhere but at him or his broad chest. Although, your efforts are all for naught because he lifts one hand and takes your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Can I take off your bra?” he inquires, the earnestness in his tone almost causing you to squirm.

You thankfully don’t—you’ve decided you’ve embarrassed yourself enough for today—and instead, nod. He doesn’t bother to say anything else as he reaches for your back, and you arch—slowly, Masaki did a number on you, after all—just in time so he can feel your clasp. It takes him a second to undo it, and a few more to lift it off of you, but when he does, the first thing he says is—

“Fuck.”

You snort. “I’m guessing that you like them.”

“Obviously, dumbass,” he spits, although it’s more playful than scathing. Then, he’s back to staring, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. “Wow.”

“What, is this the first time you’ve seen boobs?” you joke—because there’s no way a guy like him has never been with a girl, at least physically—although the jesting lilt in your voice immediately dies out when his face falls and he looks away.

Shit.

There’s only one thing for you to do.

Reaching out for his nape, you tug him down until he’s only a few centimeters away, taking his lips into yours before he can protest. To your relief, he melts into your touch, back to eagerly returning the kiss in a matter of seconds. Wanting to make him feel good now more than ever, you let your other hand snake up to his hair, grabbing a fistful before pulling tentatively—as if to test the waters. You don’t end up disappointed—in fact, you’re far from it—when he groans against your mouth, louder than before. Emboldened by his generous reaction, you pull again—harder this time—and it’s your turn to be surprised when his hips buck involuntarily against your own, giving you the slightest bit of friction that’s nowhere near enough.

You rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache as discreetly as you can, although this motion doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou, who withdraws ever so slightly to study you.

“You okay?”

“Yes—it’s just,” you hesitate, before deciding you owe him the truth. “…I want you.”

Whatever Bakugou expected you to say, it sure wasn’t that—and so candidly, too—because he splutters, face evidently flushing despite the dim lights. “I-I want you, too,” he says honestly, “But I should warn you, I’ve never really done this before.”

“I thought you were gonna say you were massive,” you quip.

“Yeah,” he smirks without missing a beat, and you choke, “That, too.”

You slap his chest, which you instantly regret. “You’re the worst!”

He doesn’t say anything to that, only grinning as he leans in and—to your surprise—latches his lips onto your neck. You barely stop yourself from jolting in pleasure when he finds and nips at your pulse point—no doubt leaving a mark that you’re going to have to color correct tomorrow if you don’t want to get any funny looks. To your chagrin—or delight, you don’t fucking know at this point—Bakugou doesn’t stop his assault on your neck, instead bringing one hand up to graze the skin below your breast.

Suddenly tired of all the teasing, you grab his hand yourself and place it right on your boob, smiling when a curse is immediately muttered against your neck. You don’t let go of your hold, choosing to guide him on how to grope and fondle it instead. Bakugou catches on quickly, and before you know it, he’s already playing with your nipples, twisting and pulling them just the way you like.

“You can use your mouth, too, if you want,” you tell him a few moments later, stifling a moan when he sucks on a spot at the crook of your neck one more time, before nodding and easing down so he can be face to face with your chest.

He doesn’t let you get another word in before he takes a nipple into his mouth, and this time, you can’t stop yourself—you jerk against him—which only pushes it further. He takes the opening and starts sucking, and you’ve got half a mind to push him away. You don’t, though, and you doubt you could’ve anyway, his grip on your waist unrelenting as he switches between breasts, doing all sorts of things with his tongue that have your mind swimming.

“Still think I’m the worst?” he eventually looks up and asks roguishly, lips even more swollen and glistening with saliva.

“Jury’s still out—” you hiss when he pinches a nipple, and you swat him away. “Never mind, you are the worst.”

“Even when I do this?” he drawls, and you’re about to clarify with him what he’s going off about this time, when he unexpectedly slips a finger underneath your panties, and you barely, barely manage to bite back a moan.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “you’re so wet.”

You fight back a shudder even as he traces the outline of your sex, seemingly entranced. “Are you—are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“What, you saying I’m a liar?” is his snarky retort, although he thankfully doesn’t stop his ministrations. In fact, your question only seems to provoke him, causing him to apply more pressure.

“N-no, it’s just that, fuck—” you huff, “I-I wouldn’t be surprised if you went d-down on me and you’d be good at that, too.”

That makes Bakugou pause, and you almost whine at the loss.

But then he practically rips your underwear out of the way, and you somehow don’t find it in you to care at all. They were granny panties anyway, and you’re too engrossed in how the pro-hero urges you to open your thighs for him, and then prying them open himself when you take too long to do it.

Not to mention the look on his face when he finally sees you.

“Stop staring at me, Bakugou,” you can’t help but grumble.

“Katsuki.”

“What?”

He doesn’t shift to look at you, gaze still focused between your thighs. “Call me Katsuki.”

That’s all the foreboding he offers before he dives in and licks a long strip along your slit, and you almost scream, if not for the hand you slap over your mouth the second that he does. He’s relentless—even as you squirm and tremble underneath him—lapping on your wetness like a man who hasn’t had a drop of water for days. You jolt when he flicks his tongue right at your clit, hands instinctively shooting up to grab at his hair. But then he makes the mistake of pushing the wet muscle into your entrance, and you inadvertently pull—hard—hard enough that it causes him to groan against your core, sending a surge of vibrations straight into your pussy.

“Fuck,” you warble, looking down at Bakugou only to see him peering up at you with half-lidded eyes that’s got you almost moaning again. “Keep on doing that.”

Fortunately, Bakugou doesn’t tease you for sounding pathetic just now, only choosing to do as you say. He resumes, with renewed vigor, paying particular attention to your clit this time. He keeps on licking it, and then sucking, before licking it again, that you almost don’t notice when a finger presses against your hole. But then he’s inching it slowly and you’re suddenly all too aware of the intrusion.

The first thing that registers is that his fingers are definitely bigger than yours.

The second thing is that fuck—did he just insert a second one?

You look down to where he’s stuck to your body, but you can’t see anything beyond his head of ash-blonde hair.

But then he does a scissoring motion inside you just as he suckles at your clit, and that’s all the confirmation you need. You can’t help it—you finally moan—and you barely miss him grinning against your pussy at the sound of it.

“Fucking finally,” he breathes out, lifting his head a bit so he can speak. “I thought you were never gonna moan for me again.”

“Again?” you barely manage to answer, already missing his mouth on you. You may be out of it, but you’re certain you haven’t cracked until just now.

“Already forgot?” he goads, pulling his fingers out of you. “Let me remind you then.”

Before you can get up and coerce him to just shut up and continue what he was doing, he’s back to towering over you, smashing his lips against yours.

And then he does it—the thing he did before. The first day in your shared bedroom. You still don’t know what it is, but he does something with his tongue, or his mouth? His teeth? You don’t fucking know, but it’s coupled with his scalding hold on your body, and despite yourself, you moan.

He promptly pulls away, a proud smirk on his face.

“Now, don’t hold back,” he commands cooly as you gape at him in half offense, half shock. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He then makes quick work of taking off his boxers, and at this point, you can only stare at him as he eases it off.

He wasn’t kidding.

If he’s noticing you practically eye-fucking him, though, he doesn’t comment on it, although the faint tinge of scarlet on his cheeks is undeniable. Instead, he only crawls over you again, right until he’s hovering over your pelvis.

Wait.

“Bakugou—” you start.

“Katsuki,” he corrects petulantly.

“Katsuki,” you force yourself to say, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, “Let me make you feel good, too.”

“Next time,” he quickly responds, and you feel your heart lurch at the promise of a continuation. “I just need to be inside you, or I’m gonna fucking nut.”

You frown, although his honest admission sends an undeniable thrill down your spine. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he seethes, “Now, come on.”

You don’t waste another second, opening up your legs just enough for Bakugou to position himself between them. He’s got an arm propped at the side of your head to support his weight, while the other reaches down to finally grab his cock. He instantly hisses at the contact, and you don’t have to look to know it’s his pre-cum that’s dribbling down your thighs.

He then mutters a curse to himself, but it’s not exactly laced with lust just as it has been the past how many minutes.

And that’s when it hits you.

The guy is nervous.

You reach up to touch his cheek, his eyes shooting up to meet yours when you do. You offer him a small smile, one that you hope says ‘I’m alright’ and that ‘I want this’. But then you remember this is Bakugou freaking Katsuki, and the last thing he needs is to be placated.

“Relax, Katsuki,” you coo, grinning when he shoots you a glare.

“And you’re gonna have to do that on your own,” you tease, “I’m all out for today.”

That lights a flame under his ass, because the glare just now morphs into a look of determination, and one glimpse of it is enough to tell you you’re fucked.

“Spread your fucking pussy,” he growls, and you immediately do as he says. He’s back to gripping his cock in an instant, giving himself a few pumps before he’s aligning it with your entrance.

And just like that, he pushes in.

You both groan when he does, his massive dick barely breaching your hole, and yet, it already feels like your nerves are on fire. You sneak a peek at the pro-hero, and you’re glad you do, because you’re met with the glorious sight of Bakugou with his eyes clenched close, lips bit in a fierce attempt to stay quiet.

“Tell me when to move,” he rasps out, refusing to open his eyes.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, bringing your arms up to wrap them around his torso. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” he seethes, just as you feel his cock twitch inside you. “Or else I’m gonna finish.”

Knowing better than to press him, you nod instead, before wiggling your hips slightly. That grants you a curse from him, but before he can cuss you out, you speak up.

“I think I’m ready. You can move no—” you hiss when he pushes without warning, and he freezes.

“Fuck, I’m sorr—”

“Just—slowly, Katsuki. Go on, move.”

He pushes again—slowly, this time—and you can only sit there and take it as he eases in, inch by inch—stopping sometimes when it gets a bit much for you—until he’s finally, fully sheathed in.

“Shit.”

“God.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” Bakugou grits out, head nestled within the crook of your neck. He still refuses to look at you, but apparently, that doesn’t matter as long as you’re being praised, because his comment inadvertently causes you to clamp down on his cock, and his breath hitches.

“Jesus,” he drones, burying himself further into your neck. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

You don’t answer him, choosing to tentatively roll your hips against his instead. He moans in your ear, and this time, you can’t help but whimper.

“Move, Katsuki,” you plead, “I can’t wait anymore.”

That seems to sober him right up, because he grunts in acknowledgement, before slowly lifting himself with his arms. Only then does he opens his eyes, and it takes everything within him not to cum at the sight of you.

He knows better than to fucking give up, though—not when he’s come this far—so with renewed purpose, he starts with small, shallow thrusts that have you mewling at him and him grunting at you, until he gradually builds speed and he’s pulling almost all the way out only to slam back into you again.

He does this again and again—somehow deeper and deeper each time—all the while panting and moaning above you, until he prods at a particular spot that has you jerking violently against him, cursing. “Fuc—”

“Shit,” he freezes, “What—”

“No, no, no, no,” you cry out, clawing at his bare arms, “Don’t stop!”

At your request, Bakugou’s back to pounding into you in an instant, and you barely miss him looking at you with feral eyes before he hits the spot again, and you scream.

“Right—fuck—right there!”

At that, Bakugou rolls his hips once more and hits your G-spot squarely, and you moan.

“Right there?” he breathes out in question, chest puffing in pride as he watches you bob your head desperately, too blissed out to even care what you look like.

But then your walls are clamping down on him again, and Bakugou curses. “I’m not gonna l-last any l-longer,” he manages to get out, choosing to look at anywhere but your face.

“P-play—fuck,” you choke out, “—play with my c-clit.”

And when you don’t immediately feel his finger on your bud: “Hurry.”

That has Bakugou rushing to rub your clit, and you can only beg for more as the overwhelming feeling of his cock inside you mixes with the euphoria brought by his fingers—until you feel the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm.

“K-Katsuki,” you shudder, “I’m gonna c-cum.”

“I’m g-gonna—” he grunts, eyes clenched closed, “—fuck—I’m gonna cum, t-too.”

“Katsuki,” you call again, and he turns his head to face your direction. “Look at me.”

And when he does—open his eyes—you roll your hips against his as best as you can, and you say it.

“Give it to me, hero.”

And just like that, he cums.

Hard.

And you cum right with him, digging your nails into his biceps as you moan, so loud you wish he’d kiss you to shut you up, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he moans with you—a strangled one that strangely sends a pang of longing straight to your chest, a longing that you can now finally admit is for the very person in your arms, who you so ardently wish would stay there, even if the mission is long over.

You don’t say any of this, though, even as he kisses your forehead before slowly pulling out, or even as he silently pads to the bathroom to get a towel so he can get you cleaned up. You thank him as he does, and watch him as he puts it away and hesitates for a moment—as if the manual he’s read about sex as a high schooler ends at physical aftercare and he’s run out of instructions.

It’s after a few more moments of awkward silence do you finally sit up and move, scooching over to make space beside you. Bakugou’s eyes trail your movement, widening when he realizes just what you’re doing. He’s stiff even as he crawls to the spot next to you, promptly taking the duvet cover that was tossed to the side in the middle of…everything, before laying it on top of your bodies.

“Thanks,” you murmur, not knowing what else to say.

“‘s nothing,” is his reply, voice equally quiet.

Neither of you says anything for a while, even as Bakugou gently tugs your head so you can rest it on his shoulder.

It’s you, though, who breaks the silence.

“You know, had I known things were gonna end this way, I would’ve just slept in the same bed as you.”

“Fucking tell me about it.”

a/n. :') first off, i want to thank you, friend, for taking a chance on this series and reading it up 'til the end. this has been the biggest endeavor i've ventured into as a writer, and it still feels surreal to me that i'm writing this now as i am about to post the last chapter. that being said, the biggest thank you to everyone who's shown love to all out of luck, especially the ones who left even just a single-worded comment. with the series having reached its end, it would mean the world to me if you let me know what you think about it / how it was for you <3 thank you so so much!!!

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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