hii!! i know you did the whole "sending quizzes to old crushes" a while ago, but i just lived it so much!! i'm not sure if you do hunter x hunter requests, but if you do i would love a hxh version of that!! if you don't, i was wondering if you could do "sending quizzes to old crushes" for the LOV members, maybe adding in aizawa and keigo?? your amazing! stay hydrated!! 🤍
Hii love, thanks for the ask! I'll get on this as soon as I can. Just letting you know I saw this <3
synopsis: trusted with finding his heartbroken friend in a sex club, bakugou finds you instead.
warnings: heavy exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fondling, grinding, kissing, mentions of oral (m receiving), public sex, everyone’s naked, everyone’s horny, they’re in a sex club, in my head this is set in germany, different, very smutty.
an: tumblr has me on a mature ban which is funny because this is very mature. let’s see if anyone gets this on their dash or if it’s in the tags xoxoxo kinda proofread
bakugou katsuki has stupid friends that make stupid choices.
“stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that.”
“what? you gotta get more confident man, you look good. everyone’s gonna be naked in there,” kirishima chuckles, staring down his blonde friend even though they’ve seen each other naked more than they can count. changing rooms, missions abroad with one hotel room, even an undercover situation where they had to bathe outside in a river. kirishima’s voice turns to a whisper, clutching his clothing to his chest, “don’t turn around there’s naked people behind you.”
“fuck off,” bakugou grunts stepping in unison with kirishima in the queue to slide his clothing across the cloakroom desk. “i’m gonna kill sparky once we find him.”
“arm.” the attendant demands, this bored looking guy who’s probably seen more testicles this one night than bakugou has seen his own.
“for what?” bakugou spits and it only comes out rude because he’s nervous. he’s already had his phone snatched away at the door, which explains why kaminari hasn’t been replying to their texts and now he’s standing with his dick out before a clothed man.
“cloakroom number. you’ve got no pockets.”
bakugou blinks as kirishima chuckles, handing over his clothes and holding out the inside of his muscled arm. bakugou does the same, frowning when he gets a red stamp on his left wrist.
22.
“can’t believe you’ve been to this shithole before,” bakugou grunts. he can’t stop fixing his hair, rubbing his nose, then adjusting his dick. there’s no clothes to fiddle with or pockets to stuff his hands into.
he’s following kirishima down this smoky purple led lit hallway and he can hear bustles of conversation and slow jazz getting louder with every step.
“denks took me once last summer. it was fun, everyone’s so friendly and it’s definitely not a shithole. if anything it’s pretty freeing, very clean. nothing to hide.”
he’s got no clue what that’s supposed to mean, not until he follows behind kirishima through these red velvet curtains and analyses the scene before him.
there’s a minty smell in the air, a thick layer of smoke so you can only make out details of someone once they’re beside you. the room is coated in that same pale purple light with people everywhere. multiple body shapes, genders and the only accessories being earrings.
bakugou’s never had nudity before him at this amount. he knows his friends have taken part in threesomes, a few foursomes but bakugou’s only ever been intimate with two people in his life. sex has never been a focus, not when he was so busy with saving the world… and his drunk friend who’s somewhere wallowing about his ex girlfriend.
“some people have their fuckin’ underwear on. i coulda kept mine!” bakugou whispers in his red headed friend’s ear even nudging him in annoyance.
it’s intimating. there’s women lounging in sofas, legs crossed, legs spread. arms cuddling another in conversation. two women was making out against the wall, her fingers snaking down her stomach and stuffing into the others pussy.
bakugou’s eyes widen, swings around so his back is facing them.
only to be facing a woman straddling a man’s lap, kissing down his neck, wrist flicking between their bodies. he looks to the bar and there’s three men talking, one with his hand on the others lower back pinging at his underwear band. then the third pops a pill in his mouth and swallows it down with an orange liquid. the men giggle, a palm on a chest, a leg between another, a tongue in an ear and—
kirishima shrugs, though bakugou can tell he’s not fazed by anything, in fact he’s interested. looking at the lean man against the wall, swishing a drink by the stem of the glass. he chews down on his bottom lip once he locks eyes with him.
“okay, let’s split up, he last said he was at the back? incase he’s moved, you stay at the front.” kirishima orders, seemingly now in a rush to get everything sorted.
bakugou eyes the man who’s staring down his friend. then the man looks at him, gaze slinking down his body, his cock. winks. bakugou’s eyes go to golf balls.
“you’re gonna leave me?”
kirishima laughs, already ducking out of the conversation, “i’m sure you’ll be safe, bro. you’ll get hit on a few times just say whatever you usually say.”
“how the fuck are you gonna find me again?”
“this place isn’t that big. i’ll check upstairs.”
“there’s a fuckin’ upstairs?” bakugou mumbles to himself once kirishima disappears within the purple haze.
bakugou knows he could be paranoid but he can feel people staring at him. it’s unlike the usual stare he gets as a hero, fans impressed with his quirk, who have been following him for years and are excited to see him in the flesh. instead the stares he’s getting now, as he wanders through this faux house gathering are charged.
people are eying him like fresh meat, as if they can feel that this is his first time being naked in a public space. his anxiety stinks, but smells good, only brewing arousal in these people.
a man ogles his arms like they’re chunks of chocolate. a woman stares straight at his cock and smiles when it twitches. he’s about to beg a security guard, who stands in a suit at the door for his jacket until he remembers why he’s here.
to find his stupid fuckin’ friend who’s drunk himself in a sad stupor. nobody else here seems to be on that wave. chatting like they’re at a casual houseparty but lacking all their clothes.
bakugou circles one room, ignoring the whispers of two women sitting cross legged on the carpet. one is leaning on her hand behind her back, breasts out and perked.
“hey handsome,” she says and bakugou can only bring himself to nod.
he scatters into the next room. people making out on a sofa. a group of five are playing spin the bottle around the table. a woman with blonde hair is in heaven, moaning with her head flung back as everyone watches on. a few men touch themselves to it but pull away when another man springs from under the table, wiping his mouth.
“fuck, i’ve been wanting to do that!”
“spin the goddamn bottle, i wanna try!”
one of the guys notices him looking, “oi! wanna play? i think your my friend’s type.”
bakugou doesn’t even bother to reply, glancing away with the snap of his head. one step forward and he bumps into a body.
soft and shorter than him. skin on skin, his hand brushing against a breast as he stabilises himself and clutches on your arm so you don’t fall in the process.
bakugou has to blink a few times to get his vision straight. just so he can be sure what he’s seeing is correct.
bakugou’s not sure what word to describe you but the first word that comes to mind is glittery. you’ve got a light glitter across your perfect chest, your arms, your— he stops once he sees a tuft of hair below your stomach. heat rises to his cheeks faster than ever before and he knows, he fucking feels the rush of blood to his cock.
you’re so fucking pretty.
“you’ve got glitter on me,” is the first thing he says but makes no move to wipe it off. instead he looks at that spot where your neck meets your shoulder, how smooth it looks. then, the plain gold hooped earrings in your ears and your shiny watery eyes. nothing about you is symmetrical, not the shape of your eyebrows or your breasts. your lips are luscious, clearly moisturised and he wonders if you’ve kissed anyone tonight.
bakugou katsuki has never met anyone naked for the first time. especially not the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on. nothing could have prepared him for this. nothing kirishima prepped him about in the car, definitely nothing in his hero education.
you giggle, butter smooth, hands at your waist and your head cocked to the side like you’re analysing.
“gives something for people to remember me by,” you grin, your teeth are not perfect but your smile is so insanely adorable. bakugou steps forward. “it’s also a hack for any married men. their wives get to find out what they’re doing in the evenings.”
bakugou’s brows rise. “that’s smart.”
“yeah, it happens more than you think.”
bakugou inhales. it’s a little shaky when he inhales your citrus perfume and the mint that feels like it’s being pumped in the air. you must be able to tell how on edge he is right now, overwhelmed and even more so now with your presence. he’s grateful you don’t look past his adonis belt, because then you’d understand exactly how you’re feeling.
“can i touch you? you’re so built. i’ve never seen anyone who looks like you,” you murmur, transfixed by his body. your eyes dart across his pectorals, his brown nipples and then his abdomen. bakugou can’t distinguish whether its interest in a biological way or sexually. especially when you stare at the soft tissue pink scar right in the centre of his chest.
bakugou swallows a gulp of his spit. he’s supposed to be finding… they must be pumping pheromones in the air because somehow he’s willing to get on his knees in front of everyone and stuff his head between your legs.
“fuck,” he sniffs abruptly, “y-yeah, you can.”
the little “yay!” that tumbles through you surprises him, creates a whole new folder in his head of how you’re endearing. right beside how sexy you look.
you flatten both your palms on his pectorals first causing bakugou to inhale sharply. his chest is falling and rising hastily just from that, from you being fucking pretty and naked and interested in him. you squeeze, lips in an o shape in surprise.
“they’re softer than i thought. wow, you’re beautiful,” you say with a smile, thumbs brushing over his nipples. bakugou is forced to grip a bookshelf beside him. “you must be in the gym everyday.”
“n-not exactly,” he manages as your finger strokes the smooth scar on his chest, then the two darker brown fleshy scars at his side. they don’t hurt him anymore, hasn’t hurt him for years but somehow you touching them so inquisitively has sparks flying through them. “i’m a…”
does he say his job? can you guess?
“you don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to. maybe later.”
you draw your fingers across his eight pack, a finger dipping in every curve. he feels firm, hard, undoubtedly strong. like consistency, persistence and pain was needed to look like this. he doesn’t notice you press your thighs together but he does notice how you bite your lip when you finally gaze down at his cock.
leaking, red and prominent against his lower stomach.
“even your dick is pretty. where the hell are you from?” you laugh, “i’m surprised nobody has snatched you up yet.”
he wouldn’t want anyone to talk to him but you.
“i think you’re pretty, too.”
bakugou cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. how childish, running around the sandpit to not catch cooties did that sound?
but again, to his surprise, you coo at him. your hands still haven’t left his body, pressing down on his sides, up to squeeze his shoulders. bakugou feels like he’s on fire, raging from unburied tension. he grits his teeth because he thinks he could come from you just touching his upper body, staring at him with your little smile.
“that’s so cute. thank you,” you reply honestly and bakugou gives a soldier like nod, “is this your first time here? you’ve got the first time nerves.”
“‘m not nervous,” but all the blood from his head is rushing right down to his crotch. you're massaging his shoulders now and bakugou is sure he’s about to loose stability in his knees.
“okay,” you don’t argue, “but it’s your first time?”
he wants to say he’s not a fucking virgin but he knows that’s not what you mean and it does feel like his first time all over again. definitely reminiscent of his first time watching pornography back in his room as a teen. over interested, horny but refusing to touch himself yet.
“yeah. my friends are here somewhere.”
it’s as if you’re magnetic, unable to take your hands off him. now they’re on his biceps, squeezing every couple seconds like you’re checking he’s still there.
“oh i know what that’s like. my first time here, i found my friend sucking this guy off less than half an hour in. she wasn’t even on anything.”
bakugou blinks, standing there like a mannequin that needs to be clothed. his cock aches.
“are you on anythin’?”
you shake your head, “no! my usual guy who i get stuff from isn’t here today, so just a few shots earlier.”
usual guy. this isn’t the place for him to feel jealous, it’s not, but he wonders if there’s anything you’d like him to give you. anything.
two girls and a guy walk past you and him, first acknowledging you with a little wave and giving him those same hungry eyes as everyone before. with his attention away from you, he realises how many people aren’t only staring at him but you. were people getting off on you touching him? there was a girl and guy on the sofa clearly talking about you, did they want you too? one of the men around the spin the bottle round table had an envious look in his eye and bakugou wasn’t sure if it was towards him or you. he shifts his body so that guy wouldn’t be able to see you.
“what’s your name?” bakugou asks. though he eyes your wrist.
a red stamped 47.
“yn,” bakugou’s not sure if you’re telling the truth. “you can touch me too if you want. i’d like it if you did.”
he didn’t come here to talk to women, he didn’t come here to fondle women, even if they’d like him to do so. kirishima has probably found kaminari right? they’re both grown ass men and kirishima has been here before. it’s fine.
you can sense the carousel of revolving thoughts in his head, so slowly as if he’s a sensitive kitten that will run away at any loud noise, you remove your hands from his body and wrap them around his wrists. you drag his hands half an inch away from your chest. “it’s okay, i promise.”
there’s the space for him to decline, your grip loose so he can pull away. but he wants too, he just probably shouldn’t be.
“f-fuck,” he whispers, pressing his hands on your clavicle. “if i touch you anymore, i will come and i can’t fuckin’ come like this.”
you frown playfully, a little laugh, “why not?”
bakugou stills, “what d’you mean? shit’s embarrassing, i need you to come first—,”
your hands are back on his wrists, sliding his palms down to the fat of your breasts. his hands are massive, able to grab both in a single hand. you exhale softly as if you just took a hit of endorphins.
“what’s your name?”
“katsuki.”
he doesn’t even have in him to lie.
“nothing is embarrassing here, katsuki. maybe if you fall flat on your face. that still applies here.”
he squeezes your breasts, tender incase he hurts you. it only makes you step in closer to him, your arms wrapping around his neck. “you’ve got such warm hands.”
bakugou’s thankful you’re cautious to not press your body into his cock. “i’ve never seen a woman like you.”
your eyes are fluttered shut once he starts to massage, glitter from your body transferring onto his palms. it’s all over his body too, like you both are born from the same star.
“i wanna take you home and squeeze you. you’re so adorable.” you whine, opening your eyes to give him a pout.
he doesn’t get this reaction from women, usually he’s the one in charge throwing them on a bed, kissing them first. but you’ve got him tied around your finger, listening to every word you say.
“you guys look gorgeous together, by the way,” a rather pretty man says in passing and your smile beams.
“thank you, honey!”
then your attention is back on bakugou like you knew he was crumbling without you.
“you can pinch them if you want.” you offer, taking your fingers through the hair on his nape.
bakugou looks at his hands on your breasts. his hands are ugly he thinks. always too sweaty, scarred all over though he always keeps his nails clean and cut. they drown your body, your flesh spilling between each of his fingers.
“you’re so…,” he’s out of words to describe how angelic you are, rolling your perked nipple with the pad of his thumb. you’re so reactive, bubbles of light delighted exhales. when he pinches your left bud you moan and bakugou is forced to squeeze the base of his cock.
you laugh at the flush of red in his cheeks, his jaw sharp as he grits down. he’s taking heavy controlled breaths, looking up at the ceiling to calm himself down.
this man, katsuki, is stupidly gorgeous. walking around this event like he’s so unaware of himself. it’s what drew you to him. you’ve figured out pretty quickly that he’s ridden with anxiety, pent up with arousal and is so determined to not come.
“i’m sorry, katsuki. it’s not because of me is it?” your hand flies to your mouth, but the giggles spill out.
he should be embarrassed at your laugh at his clear inability to control himself over your naked body and touching your breasts. about to nut in a room full of people over some half-baked fondling. but he isn’t, it feels like you’re both in this together.
“‘course it’s ’cause of you. i just need to—,” he runs his hand up and down his shaft twice, before letting go. he blinks at you, your pointed nipples, your confident smirk. he wonders how you smell if he dipped between your legs. “i’m good now.”
as good as he can be in this situation. he’s fucked.
you give him an understanding nod, biting down your smile. “if you want, we can sit down. talk a little?”
you’re like a fairy. not those dainty petite ones out of them fairytales but a real, glowing one with your palm out for him to take. you almost feel like a figment of his imagination, like he’s suffering from object permanence if he isn’t touching you. he can’t tell if you’re laughing at him just a little bit, he’s not sure if he cares. he’s out of his depth here, getting whiplash with his limits adjusting by the second.
there’s no chance he’s having sex with anyone in public. he’d do anything you ask him to and you don’t even have to say please.
bakugou slides his palm into your smaller one and allows himself to gaze down your back as you drag him away somewhere. your back is smooth, curved and he imagines kissing down your spine. your ass, he glances away, then he looks back. two round globes that ripple with every step you make. he wants to see his fingers gripping your flesh, how it shakes when he slaps a cheek.
he glances at your face to find you smirking at the fact he was so clearly checking you out.
“s-sorry, it’s—,”
“you can look at me, katsuki. we’re all naked here.”
you stop him in front of an empty maroon leather sofa though there’s still other people in the room. a group of four playing a card game on a blanket. a compulsory couple making out on another sofa, always someone making out somewhere. he should be used to it now but beside that couple there’s a man with a man and a woman licking his dick.
bakugou rips his eyes away from the scene when you drop yourself into the sofa, sitting sideways with your legs curled. you perch your arm on the back of the sofa, head resting in your palm. you tap the space beside you.
“sit, gorgeous.”
he does because he can see your pussy when he stands. was there a shine there? is it because of him? bakugou flops down, apologising abruptly when the weight of him causes your side of the sofa to bounce.
“it’s okay, you’re a big guy after all,” you say, snuggling up close to him. your hand is back on his chest but he notices your eyes widen.
“what?”
your finger swipes at the precome that’s brushed at his abs from how he’s sitting. you’re quick, eager, like you’ve been caught with your fingers in the peanut butter jar.
bakugou’s never been so hard in his life, his head is a bulging red though the colour dimmed down under the purple lights. he flings his head back on the chair but his hand finds your thigh. squeezes.
“you’re killin’ me. i didn’t expect this when i came here. i was supposed to be in and out.”
“that’s honest. you didn’t expect to be turned on in a room full of naked people.” there’s a moan in the background, a couple. “or you didn’t expect to find me?”
bakugou opens his eyes to look at you, you’re clearly more presentable than he is right now. his eyes are watery, pupils blown out like just taken something and he already looks like he’s been run through tonight. fucked in all types of ways. his lips are parted, staring at your smiling ones.
“you. i don’t even know what to say to you.”
he doesn’t know what’s appropriate in this context. with people fucking and sucking all around him, how honest can he be?
a gasp gets stuck in bakugou’s windpipe when your hand cradles his cheek, thumb brushing the blushed apple right under his eye. the movement presses your breasts together, has bakugou once again wondering how the hell you’re real right now.
“tell me what you’re thinking. your first thought.”
he feels as if he’s about to start salivating. he can see every one of your eyelashes, curled up and batting against your cheeks with every blink. your eyes are caring, looking at him softly like you know he needs to be looked after here, a little push of confidence. bakugou’s never been treated like this in his life.
“i wanna eat you out. feel you come on my tongue. so fuckin’ bad, i feel like i’m going insane.”
he notices your thighs press together now, how your body shivers, how you snuggle closer to him with your breasts against his bicep.
“hearing you say that is going to make me drip onto this sofa.” your voice is like silk, weaving in one ear and out the other.
bakugou’s hand slides from your thigh to your ass, squeezing you roughly, arousal uncontrolled.
“i was thinkin’ how the fuck is everyone able to just fuck in public here and now i’m close to beggin’ you to let me. just a taste.” he can barely pronounce a consonant, all his words slurring together, drunk on everything you are.
“you sure you want to? you don’t have to,” but you’re just taunting him. you can see how much he wants to, if not in his eyes but in his raging cock slapped against his chest. you stretch a bare leg across his lap and this large, beautiful man moans for you.
this is probably your favourite type. hot and ready after some touching. wanting to please you just from the sight of you alone. definitely helps that he’s built like a god and looks as if he can back up whatever he puts down.
“please let me,” he groans and you watch as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “i’ll do it here, let me do it here for you.”
you don't say a word, laying back on the sofa and slowly opening your legs.
bakugou feels like he’s about to shut down. your shine catches the light, gloss covering your lips, trickling down to between your ass. you’re pretty, everywhere and he can smell how much you need a release. his heart raps against his chest likes just finished a sprint and he grabs the base of his cock whilst gritting his teeth.
“fuck, sorry. i’m tryin’ so hard not to bust. i fuckin’ can’t,.” he’s blubbering away, unable to take his eyes from between your legs. you’re so fucking pretty. “so perfect. where the fuck have you been all my life?”
you’re laughing again, propping up your head at the arm rest as bakugou adjusts his body to have his head between your thighs. you ruffle his hair, tugging it lightly before letting go.
“you’re so adorable. i knew you’d be good for me.”
that has bakugou dragging his eyes away from your pussy to your face. “i’m good for you?”
he isn’t the submissive one in sex, in his life. he takes control of everything, he’s the one telling others where to go and what to do and… here he isn’t. here he’s waiting for your next word and there’s a couple people watching it happen. fuck, more people are in the room now. sitting on other sofas, staring at him looking at you like you created the stars in the sky.
“yes katsuki, so good. you said you wanted me, have a taste.”
the permission has him purring like a new shiny engine, both his thumbs spreading you apart and bakugou feels rewarded. thick sweetness pouring from your hole and he’s quick to lap it up so it doesn’t get on the sofa. he can’t waste any of you, how disrespectful that would be. your exhales are bubbling with every lick bakugou makes, firstly tender like he’s testing the waters before he dives in.
he grips your thighs like a man starved, the first piece of meat he’s seen in days. then he starts to rock his face into you. messy like nobody taught the man any manners. licks stripes across you so everything’s contained, moans sending vibrations through you because you taste even better than he could imagine. a sweet tang, that has him rolling his eyes to the back of his head.
bakugou is consumed by you, by taste, scent and sight, that he forgets about his own hard cock and the crowd that has formed.
“can i touch you—,” it’s another voice, one said to your katsuki but he’s busy.
“don’t touch him,” you bite, grinding your hips up into his mouth, back arching when he suctions his plush lips over your clit, “fuck, katsuki! you’re doing so well, baby. you’re going to make me come.”
bakugou’s too engrossed, focused on your sounds and words to guide him, to ensure he’s doing the best he can. but you notice, you notice the jealous eyes, the aroused ones, even the curious ones in the corner. there’s even word spreading round to other rooms of what’s happening, of this sexy newcomer that has his head between your thighs.
“she’s so hot, she’s never let me do that.”
“who is he… who are they? d’you think they’d want me as a third?”
“i’m getting hard again just watching this.”
everything here is lewd, this is a protected place for your wildest fantasies to come true. the attention only encourages your orgasm, the watery red eyes of this stranger dragging you to the edge.
“need you to come on my face,” he grunts like a raging beast, lifting up on his knees to push yours by your head.
he needs a better position, one to get right inside of you, have your orgasm stretch as long as possible.
you mewl at the burn in your thighs, but it’s welcomed as his wet prodding tongue circles your clit again and again before sucking harshly. he’s created his own rhythm. a paw clutches at your breast as he grunts, ruby eyes staring at you for a reaction.
“we’ve got ourselves fans, katsuki,” you whisper to him and he can tell you are close, eyes fluttering, almost completely gone.
he slips two fingers into you and pre from his cock leaks onto his chest at how wet you are. now, bakugou finally pays attention to all the eyes in the room with his mouth slick with you. the couple that were making out have pulled apart to stare at you. there’s a man running his fist up and down himself. there’s groups of people just watching, more coming in as his fingers pump in and out of you.
how the fuck has he gotten here? a new flush of heat floods him, pride at everyone seeing how well he treats you. that you’re moaning and wailing for him.
“you like everyone watchin’ you, huh? you want everyone to see how pretty you look when you come?”
you look delirious, biting down on your lip as you nod, trying to lock your knee around his neck to bring him back to you.
“yes. i want everyone to see me come because of you.”
he doesn’t understand a thing about right now, just that he needs to take you there.
so he does, loud squelches of his fingers curling along your walls and his lips sucking your clit like he needs it for his survival. your orgasm rocks through you, bursts of come seeping from your hole and bakugou tries his best to keep it in his fingers, clicking around them and grunting when some spills.
your body vibrates, legs tensing in the air as sweat gathers at your temples. you’re murmuring swears with whines and your grip on his head gets stronger to keep him there through your orgasm.
there’s multiple other moans through the room, conversation about you and katsuki but it’s gone mute as white flashes your vision. once bakugou’s sure he’s lapped you all up, sucked you completely off his fingers, he kisses your stomach lightly, fixated on the empty pulsing between your legs.
“you good? wasn’t too much?” he asks you as your chest falls and rises.
you can barely manage to lift yourself up so you take his hand, “loved it. i knew you’d be good with your mouth.”
you still notice the urgency in his eyes so you look over at his cock, about to reach for it.
“you both are hot. mind if i join?” a man with dark hair, toned.
“no. fuck off,” bakugou snarls, lifting you up so you’re wrapped under an arm, tucked to his side. “you’re lucky we’re lettin’ you even watch.”
your smile blooms, awarding bakugou with kisses along his shoulder, a soft bite where his neck meets. “it’s your turn now, katsuki. need to take care of you before you pass out on me.”
you’re both sitting so intimately. you look exhausted after your orgasm and your skin is tacky with sweat against his. yet he holds you tight, skin to skin, your arms circling his neck.
“you don’t have to. i can sort this at home,” he doesn’t know why he says this. is he being polite? he’s now aware of the eyes around him. some people have dispersed since he stopped eating you out. others now just littered around the room.
“no,” you whine, a kiss on his jaw. he’s yet to kiss your lips. “i want to make you come. want to say thank you.”
your face is a few inches from his, hanging onto him like a koala. he’s committing this all to memory, the red printed 47 on your wrist. how your eyes are glassy like you owe him more than just an orgasm. how you gripped his hair once you noticed how many people were watching.
“can i kiss you?” his fingers run down your sides.
“so cute,” you whisper against his lips, sliding onto his open mouth and thrusting your tongue inside.
the kiss is amazing, sexy. has your hips moving against his side without warning. you can feel his boost of confidence as he sucks on your tongue, tilting his head to get deeper down your throat. he bites down on your bottom lip, hating to be away from you completely for a second before his lips land on you again. he tastes like you and something sweet and it’s all effortless as he begins to push you back down onto the sofa, thick forearms by your head so he can begin to grind between your sensitive legs.
bakugou doesn’t last long at all, he knows he wouldn’t be able to. as your legs wrap around his waist, all he wants is a pussy job. to feel you wet and soaked around his cock. but three thrusts from you with your tongue in his mouth and bakugou bursts all over your chest. his groan is incredible, has you clinging onto him in necessity.
it’s one jolt of come, then his face goes slack, grunts of “fuck, couldn’t stop myself.” hating how he couldn’t go on for longer, even though he’s been burning since he saw you.
“it’s okay baby, it’s all for me. i love that it’s all for me,” you say to him, working him through his weak thrusts as he’s unable to even kiss you, just transferring his hot breath into your mouth. another jolt and his seed pours. “you’re so sexy. i’ve missed you.”
that makes bakugou laugh, his come gathering in your tummy button, under your breasts and through your hair on your mound. “i’ve fuckin’ missed you too. where have you been?”
bakugou’s barely conscious as he lays beside you out of breath and out of any will to move.
“sorry, i know i’ve made a mess—,”
you tut, but you only mean it sweetly when he glances over at you, “stop apologising. there’s wipes and tissues under the chair.”
“that was so sexy, if you guys are ever looking for two more—,”
“no!” you and katsuki blurt, “we’re good.”
as the girl walks away, bakugou sighs delightfully, reaching for the pack of wipes to clean up.
“wait, wait,” you say, scooping up his come from your stomach on your finger and stuffing it in your mouth.
bakugou stares with a slacked jaw, reaching over to kiss the corner of your lips as you swallow.
“are you gonna let me see you again? maybe out of here?”
you cock your head to the side as he wipes over your stomach, then your thighs.
you take longer than needed to reply, enough time for bakugou to mumble, “please?”
“what the fuck!? there you are!” kirishima bustles in, stomping over with kaminari behind him still looking heartbroken but now considerably more interested in whatever's just gone down. “no way, kacchan? seriously?”
kirishima’s eyes flicker over you still laying on the sofa as bakugou wipes you down, very obvious about everything that’s just happened.
“good for you man,” he says solemnly, slapping his hand on bakugou’s shoulder.
“kacchan?” you ask.
“short for katsuki,” he says into your hair and there’s something inside you that bursts in delight that he trusted you with his actual name.
“this is yn,” he blurts, knocking his head with yours. the fuck is he supposed to do, caught just having sex in a sex club with a beautiful woman by his two friends, “she’s sweet.”
kaminari laughs wetly, “course she is. how did he find someone and i lost someone. the love of my life.”
“sorry about him. still distraught. i found him asleep upstairs—,”
“then i woke up to him sucking off this guy—,”
“shut up,” kirishima whines.
“was it that same guy we saw when we walked in?” bakugou asks and he’s met with a slow nod, that becomes a small smile in remembrance.
the dynamic of katsuki and his friends wasn’t what you expecting. you weren’t sure what you were expecting really, but it wasn’t this. light laughter between them both, all three of them jacked and muscled like they have the same hobbies.
“anyway we’re heading out now, you coming with kacchan? or you wanna stay with yn here?”
bakugou looks to you. he wants to be anywhere you are. maybe do more with you, talk to you. find out what you do for work, your dreams, your family. he wants to touch you in his bedroom, without a crowd.
“i’ll meet you at the cloakroom in fifteen.”
with two waves to you, you look over at bakugou with a pout. “you’re leaving?”
“you can come with me? this isn’t my thing,” he looks around the room, “not at all. but i wanna spend more time with you. maybe outta here?”
it’s the same nervousness from earlier but instead of coming out jumpy he’s unable to make eye contact, hands unable to leave your thighs.
“okay… i’ll say goodbye to a few people and meet you outside?”
bakugou doesn’t hide his shock at you agreeing. he was expecting push back, this being a once in a lifetime situation where he meets the most beautiful girl of his dreams and never again. but you rise to your feet, taking his hand like you’re helping him up.
on your tiptoes, you kiss his cheek, “i’ll be quick okay?”
he shakes his head, “take your time.”
with kirishima and kaminari clothed at the front of the car, bakugou sighs for the fifth time.
“it’s been ten minutes bro, she said she will come, she’s coming,” kaminari says from inside the car through the window, his eyes closed. “you wont be let down. not like i was.”
bakugou stands leaning with his arms crossed against the car, kicking a rock.
“maybe she doesn’t notice you without your dick out,” kirishima laughs, which only makes kaminari laugh too.
“fuck off, we all had our dicks out—,”
“sorry for taking so long, they couldn’t find my clothes!”
you look completely different yet completely the same, under the harsh yellow streetlight compared to the fuzzy purple haze from the club. you look real, beautiful, in reach for him to kiss with a clear head. and clothed, you’re adorable. dressed nothing like the minx that enjoys having an audience when she orgasms.
you’ve got a fluffy striped jumper on and baggy denim blue jeans with your bag over your shoulder. you look like you’re dressed to do a food shop, a student going to university. fuck… he cannot even wrap his head around the fact came over your chest a mere half an hour ago.
“you look adorable,” he blurts and you give him a grin, stuffing your hand in his face.
“shut up katsuki, that’s my word for you,” though he only grabs your wrist, kissing the faintly stamped 47.
he continues holding it when you peep your head to the open window to his friends. “thanks for dropping me off guys!”
“no problem!”
bakugou opens the back door for you, “d’you wanna come back to mine?”
he asks before you get in and like before, there’s an extra second pause. then, “are you going to tell me what you do for work?”
“he’s a pro hero, we all are,” kaminari groans, his hangover settling in as well as his urge to go home.
your eyes widen, your hand back on his chest like feeling him will reveal the truth. he’s now coated in a plain black tshirt. “oh wow.”
“guys we really can be horny in the car instead of outside. get in.” kirishima says and it’s a quick scramble of you sliding in and then bakugou after.
it’s inevitable, an attempt to be appropriate but straying from it at every corner.
another kiss shared in the backseat between you saying how many siblings you have, bakugou gripping your thigh as he says where he grew up. kaminari sharing an embarrassing tidbit about bakugou growing up and bakugou threatening to snap his neck. then the blonde apologises to you for saying that while kaminari whines in the background.
when kirishima drops you and bakugou outside of his skyrise apartment the only thing you can think to say is, “you’re a really good friend.”
bakugou huffs a laugh, slinging his arm around your shoulders, “not really. i was eatin’ you out when i shoulda been lookin’ for him.”
likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for another part. thanks xox
Katsuki just crumbles at your compliments. Like he loves hearing compliments from people but when it's YOU he folds.
-
Like maybe you're in a restaurant together and he's irritated cause the food is taking so long. "Awh you're so pretty, baby." You coo reaching over to pinch his cheek.
His ears turning pink so fast and a smile forming even faster. "Shut up." He whispers loudly pulling your hand away from his face. And when you don't stop, he bangs his fist on the table out of frustration attempting to get you to stop. Slowly placing his head down on the table trying to force his smile away.
Or
You guys are at an award show together and his face shows on the big screen. You notice before he does. "Look Kat', you look so cute, love. " And again he blushes immediately. "Stop." He whispers softly this time, not even looking at the camera cause he refuses to be caught blushing. You can definitely see that he's blushing though even as he bends down to his lap while you stroke his head waving at the camera.
He's so mad when he's trending on Twitter the next day with people calling him a softy and a simp. Walking over to you shoving his phone in your face to witness the mess you have caused. "Look at this." You only giggle as you scroll through the names people are calling him. "You really look cute here." Yet again he's blushing and smiling like an idiot. "This is not funny, you've ruined me." He just flops down onto the couch laying his head on your lap with a dopey smile on his face. His look so loving even if he's mad.
"You're not ruined, just... avoid Kaminari and the paparazzi."
he’s the ex you never quit—jeon jungkook, all teeth and ruin, the kind of man who fucks himself into your memory so deep you’ll never scrape him out. you’ve got lovers, he’s got excuses, but the second you’re near it’s desire and ecstasy—nasty hands, bitten lips, every reason you swore to leave him turning into the only reason you let him back in. he’s not history, he’s the relapse, the disease, the poison you drink twice just to feel it burn.
pairing ex!jungkook × exgf!reader
warnings cheating, explicit content, forced proximity(not really), jungkook is a tease, fingering, degradation, punishment, ass slaps, making out, pussy slapping, marking skin, dry humping, obsessive, jealousy, angst, dirty talking, penetration, choking, denial, orgasm control, sexual tension, domination, hair pulling, slight manipulation, jungkook's ceo, alcohol consumption, mention of smocking
“you’re gonna dance or i’m claiming that brunette for myself,” angelina teases, martini glass tilting in her fingers like a little crown she’s about to drop. her hair sticks in glossy sheets to the black dress hugging her hips, sequins winking under the neon wash. she’s already swaying, lips stained, eyes glassy.
but you? your eyes don’t follow her. your gaze is a razor, fixed, unable to unsee. jeon jungkook. not just another body in this feverish crowd, not just some man whose shirt strains a little too tight over his chest. no—your ex. and the universe, in its cruel little sense of humor, decided he wouldn’t stand alone. there’s a girl draped around him like she was sewn to his side, her hand on his chest, nails like claws claiming him as hers. you watch her laugh, tilt her head, grab his wrist like she’s branding him. something inside you gives a brittle snap.
this wasn’t supposed to happen. your friend swore this spot was a neutral playground, a place too crowded, too polished for ghosts to appear. you even laughed about it—what are the odds? and yet here he is, head thrown back under the strobe, veins sharp at his neck, looking a hundred times better than he has any right to. and here you are, stuck in the crossfire between your past and your present. your boyfriend’s hand rests heavy on your hip, possessive without noticing, eyes glued to the endless glow of his phone. his thumb scrolls, taps, dials, chasing deals even on a saturday night. he doesn’t see you break. doesn’t see how your chest caves when jungkook shifts, or how your spine prickles when your ex’s gaze cuts across the room and nearly—almost—meets yours.
you came to forget, to unhinge from the week clawing at your brain, to drink until your blood hummed like static. you told yourself tonight you’d laugh too loud, sweat on the dance floor, prove to your own skin you were free. so you lean down, press your lips near your boyfriend’s ear, murmur something about dancing. he waves you off with two fingers, eyes still shackled to the glow of his screen, already answering some call with that low, brisk tone. business first, always. you burn hotter.
and so you slip. into the press of bodies, into perfume and cologne mixing into a dizzying storm, into the haze where the bass bruises through ribs and people grind as though skin was currency. your friend pulls you deeper, and for a moment, your body obeys the music. but even surrounded by strangers’ hands and the stench of expensive smoke curling through chandeliers, you feel it—his presence, his eyes. you can’t shake the pulse of it.
the club is not ordinary, not some grimy dive—it’s expensive, lush, velvet-lined, a place with polished tables and bouncers that barely blink. your boyfriend wouldn’t step into anything less; he’s a businessman, careful with appearances, unwilling to let you or himself be seen below standard. that means your choices never really matter.
“if you keep fading, i’m gonna start sobering up,” your friend drawls, her voice syrupy with alcohol, body rolling like the music lives in her bones, every flick of her wrist or tilt of her hips too precise to be accidental, too chaotic to be practiced. she moves like the kind of girl who has memorized every pop video but still makes it her own, messy, wild, magnetic, a star who doesn’t know she’s performing.
you try to follow, but your body is stiff, sluggish, like the music has skipped a beat only for you. there’s heat under your skin, a feverish current, not from the alcohol or the crowd but from the gnawing, unbearable awareness that somewhere beyond this blur of limbs and neon light, he is there. your mouth moves before your mind does, almost a scream to cut through the suffocating bass, “i saw jungkook.”
your friend stumbles mid-spin, heels scraping against the sticky floor, and nearly collides into you. “the fuck you just say?” she shouts back, her rings cold where her hands land on your shoulders, the metal catching in your hair as if she’s trying to shake the answer out of you. “you mean your ex?”
“behind us. just—don’t turn around,” you hiss, though even as the words leave your mouth you know her too well—she thrives on the disobedience, on being the spark in gasoline. of course she does the exact opposite, craning her neck with no shame, eyes scanning the shadows.
she cackles, head snapping back over her shoulder like you hadn’t spoken at all. “oh, damn. girl, you weren’t lyin’.”
“what—no, don’t look. oh my god,” you groan, dragging your hands over your face like you can hide yourself in your palms. but it’s too late. that gravitational pull you swore you outgrew latches onto you, and when you peek through your fingers, you meet it—his gaze.
your friend laughs, carelessly, like she’s immune. “and he’s fuckin’ starin’ at you right now. jesus, he’s about to set me on fire with that look.” she tips her glass to her lips, unfazed, taking a long swallow of her drink as though this isn’t the kind of thing that could rip the floor out from under you.
your throat dries, your hands slick with sweat. it’s the same gaze you remember—unyielding, unblinking, molten with something indecent and raw. it doesn’t just meet your eyes, it takes you apart piece by piece, stripping you down in the middle of a crowded room until you’re suddenly sixteen again, or twenty-one again, or whatever version of yourself you were when you first learned what it was to be unraveled under him.
he steps forward. it’s subtle, but you feel it like an earthquake. he moves from the girl on his arm, drifting toward the edge of the staircase, and it hits you like it always did—he doesn’t walk so much as prowl, languid and deliberate, every stride carved out of arrogance and danger. the suit he’s wearing is expensive, sure, but careless in the way only men like him can afford—cufflinks undone, shirt buttons open just enough, fabric pulling against shoulders and thighs too broad for tailoring. the watch gleams on his wrist, heavy and commanding, and his shoes catch the light with a shine brighter than the highlighter you dusted onto your cheeks earlier, futilely. his hair is perfectly imperfect, too intentional to be accidental, still carrying that invitation, that dare.
he doesn’t stop staring. of course he doesn’t. jungkook has never been subtle, never been soft with you. he stares like it’s his right, like no time or distance has earned him less.
“let’s go say hi,” angelina chirps suddenly, her smirk all teeth and malice, and your stomach caves in.
“are you fucking crazy?” you scream back over the music, panic scraping your throat raw. you glance toward where he was standing, but he’s already gone, vanished from his spot like smoke curling out of reach, slipping into the thick crush of the crowd, maybe descending the spiral staircase that glints like something out of a film noir.
your friend just shrugs, smug, almost sharp in her clarity now. “what? your boyfriend’s out there fuckin’ around anyway. this is prime time—show him what the hell he stands to lose.” her steps are sure again, confident, like she’s sobered just enough to enjoy the game she’s playing with your pulse.
you spot him before she does. a flicker in the crowd, the unmistakable shape of him—shoulders like carved stone, hips cut with the kind of arrogance no suit can smooth out. his figure is magnetic, impossible to mistake, every detail familiar and yet impossibly new. your friend spins you halfway, leans close to whisper a final sermon, “behave decently—” she pauses, smirk curling, “—and be provocative. got it?”
you nod, though your tongue is cement, and then you lose the ability to breathe altogether. because he’s coming closer, and every step of his is a declaration. he adjusts his cuff, rolls his watch back on his wrist, smooths the front of his shirt with the kind of composure that feels like a prelude to war. his pace is deliberate, predatory, each step slow enough to drag your nerves tauter. it’s there in his walk, in the tilt of his chin, in the half-smirk tugging at his mouth—you are not going to resist him.
you’re about to turn, already halfway into the motion of escape, when you catch it—the ghost of his smirk curling at the edge of his mouth, sly and sharp like a blade half-hidden. he wipes it away with the back of his hand in one fluid gesture, replacing it with something cooler, deliberate, a seriousness so sudden it makes your stomach pitch. your throat works against the weight of a swallow, muscles stiffening as if you’ve been caught in the act of something unspeakable, and you can’t even straighten your back without feeling like it would expose too much. his voice drops into you like an anchor, low and steady, cutting straight through the noise and bass that thunders across the room.
“didn’t think i’d see you here,” he says, and there’s nothing but precision in the way he lands it, no hesitation, no distraction. his eyes are tracing you like a map he already knows by heart, and out of the corner of your gaze you notice the small, maddening tick of his tongue pushing into his cheek, a subtle flex that makes his jaw look sharper. his hands sink deep into his pockets as though he’s got all the time in the world, but you can’t help noticing the silver glint of his watch catching the low light, smug and unapologetic.
“can’t say the same about you,” you snap back, arms crossing tightly over your chest like a shield, though it only makes you feel more exposed, every nerve raw and naked under his attention. there’s a sensitivity that blooms, prickling across your skin as if you’ve stepped out into winter air without warning. you see his face shift for a fleeting second, something vulnerable, maybe even genuine, but then it’s gone—buried beneath that infuriating mask he wears so well, the one you’ve watched him perfect for years.
“ouch. harsh. that’s a low bar,” he answers, laying one hand flat against his chest in mock injury, his tone feather-light yet intentional. he plays at being wounded, but you know better. you know the difference between his masks and his truths, and this is nothing but performance. his eyes flicker like he’s taking stock of you again, and then the tilt of his head follows—barely angled, deliberate, observant, like he’s peering into a private window you never gave him permission to open. “did you come alone?” the words land softly, deceptively soft, yet they coil around you, and the slight arch of his brow cuts sharper than any blade.
your lips part but nothing comes out at first. the question sits there, smoldering, and you feel its weight pinning you in place. “how does this concern you?” you manage finally, though it doesn’t come out as sharp as you wanted—it trembles at the edges, and you despise yourself for it. because he knows. god, he knows. every twitch of your shoulders, every quickened beat under your skin, every little betray of breath. he reads you without effort, without trying, as though your whole body is written in ink only he can see. and you hate that you can’t decide whether that makes you furious or undone.
“mm. still fuckin’ hard to reach,,” he murmurs, the words sliding out like smoke, curling in the narrow space between you. his body doesn’t move much, but it doesn’t need to; it exudes. he stands with that maddening composure, as though sculpted out of something immovable, shoulders squared, lines and angles crisp as if carved by hand. his chin tilts just slightly, knives of shadow sharpening the edges of his jaw, and his skin carries a faint sheen under the light, the kind of glow that feels both holy and ruinous.
then the head tilt comes again, so slight, so damn practiced, resurrecting every dead butterfly in your stomach until they riot, chaotic and unwelcome, as though he’s tossing a challenge directly into your bloodstream.
“and you’re still the same narcissistic moron,” you shoot back, the words bursting out faster than you can rein them in.
his laugh is low, a spark more than an explosion, and he tastes the sound with a slow drag of his tongue across his lip. “look at you. first five minutes and already tossing compliments,” he muses, the ease in his voice taunting, his stance softening into a relaxation that makes you feel like you’re vibrating at a different frequency altogether.
“wasn’t a compliment.”
he leans into the moment the way you want to lean out of it, utterly unbothered while you feel like the ground is threatening to swallow you whole. “you didn’t answer my question.” his tongue presses into his cheek again, the motion sharp and telling, a little crack in his mask. the words linger, not casual, not careless, but edged with something that betrays him: concern or jealousy, you can’t tell. and maybe you don’t want to.
“you’re staring,” your voice doesn’t tremble, doesn’t even so much as waver, but inside you are unraveling thread by thread, every muscle taut, every breath locked like a secret in your chest. it feels obscene, the way his eyes linger, the way they touch more boldly than hands ever could.
“always did,” he says, and it isn’t tossed out casually—it lands like a stone in water, rippling, deliberate, a confession dressed as a fact. his hand runs lazily through his hair, ink-black strands falling right back into place like they know where they belong. he doesn’t look away, not even for a second, and the weight of it makes your dress, already unforgiving, feel like it’s tightening around your ribs. “does it bother you?”
“no,” you lie, the word catching on your tongue before it spills into the heavy air between you. your fingers lace together so tightly your knuckles pale, like holding yourself together could disguise how undone you really are. you hate how obvious it must be. “you should stop.”
his smirk unfurls, slow and wicked, like he’s been waiting for you to hand him that line. “you lie prettier now,” he murmurs, and the way it sounds—admiring, taunting, sinful—makes your throat tighten. it’s not just a smirk anymore, it’s a weapon, an entire performance sharpened to a point, daring you to break against it.
“and you’re still full of yourself,” you bite back, even though your eyelid twitches, even though the sheer smugness radiating off him makes your skin prickle. it’s the way he breathes, like even the act of existing is done at your expense. you want to slap it off his face, that dangerous curl of his lips, but you know him—he’d laugh, not flinch.
“mm,” he hums, stepping closer, as if proximity is his native language and distance an afterthought. you feel it, the invisible burn of him, the way his aura presses into you like a tide. “maybe. but im not wrong.”
people part around him unconsciously, as though they can smell the danger simmering between you, giving you both space as if they know one spark could set the entire room ablaze.
he dips closer, his expression slipping into a look of indulgent satisfaction. “the same perfume,” he says, inhaling deep like he’s claiming a relic, like you’re still his to catalog. his face is dangerously near yours, the brush of his breath warm against your skin, and you drop your fists to your sides, balling them as if that will tether you to sense. “thought you’d switched it by now.”
“you notice too much,” you manage, though the words come out strangled with the sweetness of memory. because you can smell him, too. darker now, richer. expensive cologne tangled with cigarettes, with something that tastes like bitter chocolate melted into cognac. the scent spins around you dizzyingly, and it feels like you could trip forward into his chest just to drown yourself in it.
“yeah,” his smirk sharpens, hand moving instinctively, thoughtlessly, until it rests on your thigh—just like it always did when you were his. when he couldn’t go five minutes without touching you, as though his body couldn’t stand the separation. your breath stutters, your pulse wild, and you jerk a step back. he only shrugs, clearing his throat like he didn’t mean it, like his fingertips hadn’t already burned into your skin. “always did,” he repeats, softer this time, almost like an oath.
“stop it.” the words come out harsher than you intend, almost a plea. you point a finger at him like it’s a weapon, like it could guard you against the thing his eyes are doing to you.
“can’t.” his answer is quick, steady, without hesitation. he moves closer again, and you instinctively recoil another step, colliding with a stranger behind you, jolted and breathless. before you can apologize, before you can catch your balance, his hand finds yours—firm, unyielding—and pulls you back to him.
you don’t fight. god help you, you don’t even resist.
“don’t want to,” he adds, low, molten, and in the next breath he’s tugging you through the crowd, his stride long, purposeful, yours stumbling to keep up. his hand swallows yours like it was built to. his presence eclipses everything else, blotting out the edges of the world until you can’t remember where you are or who might be watching.
your mind flickers—your boyfriend somewhere in this same room, jungkook's girlfriend possibly just steps away—and yet the thought scatters like dust in the wind. nothing penetrates this pull, this gravity. you should resist, you know you should, but it’s like sinking into a swamp you secretly wanted to find, something sticky and dangerous that sucks you in deeper with every step. you think of the excuses, of the hollow spaces left by unanswered calls and “late nights at the office,” of the business trips and boardrooms that have made your bed cold. and it stings to admit it, even to yourself, but it’s your ex—the boy who broke you and branded you both—that makes you feel seen, wanted, touched.
and the worst part? you don’t want to stop him.
you climb the wide staircase like it’s a stage you never signed up to perform on, but he takes it two steps at a time, moving with that easy, practiced grace of someone who has already memorized every inch of the place. his confidence is so sharp it cuts through your nerves, dulling them for a second, making you feel that familiar, almost shameful safety in his presence—the kind you only ever felt with him. your mind slips, forgetting for a dangerous moment that you’re no longer his, that the rhythm of your steps isn’t supposed to fall into sync with his anymore.
the hallway stretches out ahead of you, muffled and padded with thick carpets that swallow your footsteps, while his gait still echoes with power, every step unapologetic. he pushes open a door marked with a simple, glittering word—vip—and the world tilts slightly in your chest. you swallow, tasting adrenaline, tasting memories. of course it’s dangerous. everything with him always was. he was the boy who could take your pulse and turn it into a drumline, the boy who made even silence ring too loud.
before you realize it, you’re inside, the door shutting with a sound too final to ignore. the music below becomes nothing more than a dull heartbeat, leaving you alone with the thick, unbearable tension vibrating between your bodies. the couches at the end of the room are waiting, shadowed and velvety, and you already know—like some terrible prophecy etched in your ribs—that if you stay too long, there’s only one way this can end: with you under him, gasping for air like you’ve been drowning for years.
“this is the vip room,” you murmur, the words falling flat, half a statement, half a test, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.
he glances back at you, smirking like he already knows what’s running through your head. “no shit,” he mutters, low and rough, and then moves away, like even the air can’t cage him.
he drifts to the other end of the room, where a stand gleams like a personal altar to indulgence. bottles line the counter in perfect symmetry, catching light in their glass bodies, and he pours without hesitation, without question. his hands are steady, his movements confident, like this ritual has belonged to him forever. two glasses, liquid sloshing gold and amber, and then he’s swallowing lemon, chasing it with liquor, the burn hidden in the steadiness of his throat. his body doesn’t falter, doesn’t sway. he’s a man drinking like water what would drop anyone else.
“i didn’t tell you?” his voice is silk dragged over gravel. his mouth curls, arrogant. “i own this place.”
you blink too fast, your eyes widening like you’ve been sucker-punched with a truth you never expected. “you— you're the owner of this club?” the words stumble out, equal parts disbelief and bitter irony. the last time you saw him he couldn’t hold onto anything—jobs slipped through his hands like sand, plans fell apart like paper in the rain. you remember the arguments, the way you craved something steady, something reliable, something he never was. and now this? this empire of noise and light, this room above it all?
he laughs, deep and unapologetic, like you’ve just revealed how little you know him. “why does that surprise you so much?” he lowers into the chair with sprawling authority, spreading his legs, his hands gripping the edges like he’s carving his territory into the furniture itself. he looks devastatingly at ease, while you are stitched together with trembling thread.
“you’ve always been reckless,” you fire back, though you won’t even glance at the glass he set down. you know better. if you drink now, your brain will stop listening to reason and start whispering the things you’ve been fighting to bury.
he tilts toward you, his eyes glinting with something sharp, something smug. “reckless, yeah. but not fucking stupid,” he says smoothly, knocking back another shot. the glass empties, but his body remains carved in precision, his movements calculated, untainted. “apparently it was a mistake,” his head tilts more, eyes narrowing, and when he speaks, his voice is even dirtier, a scrape against your skin.
“what exactly?” your voice pushes through the dense air, but you feel it—his gaze slicing into you, dissecting you, uncoiling things you thought you had locked away.
“underestimate me,” the words drip like honey and venom all at once. his hands run down his thighs slowly, deliberately, veins prominent beneath his skin, rings and bracelets gleaming like trophies. your eyes betray you, dragging over the width of his arms, over the swell of muscle that didn’t exist months ago, over the dark ink etched into his skin like secrets you weren’t invited to hear.
“you’re staring,” he mocks, echoing your earlier words, his smirk cutting, and you should be angry, should rise to the bait. but anger doesn’t come. instead, something else blooms—something scandalous, something hungry.
you imagine it before you can stop yourself: the heat of his legs under your palms, the strength of muscle beneath the fabric, his skin hot and alive under your touch. the jungkook you knew was leaner, softer at the edges, but this jungkook is sculpted, larger, his body an entire map of temptation you want to memorize. you imagine climbing onto his lap, staking claim, daring the world to see you there, unashamed and crowned by his body like it was carved only for you.
“wanna’ sit?” he breaks the fantasy with words that feel like a direct invasion of your thoughts, his big hands patting his thighs with deliberate provocation. and in that second, your head spins, light and dizzy, like you’re the one who drank those shots, not him. your pulse hammers, reckless, traitorous, whispering the answer you don’t want to admit.
“jungkook, i can’t,” the words slip out before you can leash them, half apology, half excuse, though you hate how awkward they sound in your own throat. it’s not that you want to feel clumsy, not that you want to be painted into this corner of hesitation, but the moment stretches hot and fragile, and your body betrays you with the tremor that runs through your chest.
“can’t what? breathe? think? or just admit you wanna climb on?” he presses, that boyish recklessness sharpening into something far more deliberate. his wrist twists with lazy precision, the glass rolling between his fingers, liquor sloshing perilously close to the rim but never spilling, like he’s teasing even gravity itself. his eyes glitter, too intent, too knowing, as if you’re a riddle he’s already solved, a book he’s read cover to cover but pretends to skim for the thrill of it.
“i have a boyfriend,” you mutter, and the words don’t sound like the shield they’re supposed to be — more like a child’s flimsy excuse, something you toss between you as if it could stop the inevitable. the bitterness creeps into your mouth anyway, so you drown it with liquor, amber heat sliding down your throat until it settles like fire in your stomach.
“fuckin’ knew it,” he exclaims, hand slapping against his thigh with a sharp, amused crack. the heavy watch on his wrist catches the low light, a gleam that mocks you — it costs more than every single thing you’re wearing combined, and he knows it.
“what’s wrong with that? i can’t have a boyfriend?” you shoot back, voice dipping into defensive bravado, though the edge dulls when you taste the whiskey again. it burns sweet and acrid, like melted sugar on steel, forcing you to swallow the sting while your lips twist against the rush of heat.
“thought you needed time. always said that,” he murmurs, tipping another shot back like it’s water, like his veins are lined with copper and his blood doesn’t curdle with alcohol the way everyone else’s does. he should be drunk by now — red-cheeked, loose-tongued — but instead he sits straighter, his arrogance calcifying into something even heavier, even harder to peel your eyes away from.
“i needed time to understand how selfish you are,” you retort, but your voice is soft, feathered at the edges by the warm blur that’s creeping through your skull. you can feel the alcohol working, thinning the walls in your head, making the room slant, making your judgment slip one degree at a time.
“selfish? baby, that’s rich. from you,” he chuckles, shaking his head with exaggerated amusement, hand sliding over the solid breadth of his thighs like he’s framing them as the seat they are, as if the whole exchange is nothing more than foreplay to him, dialogue soaked in irony and intent. “keep talkin’ shit though. sounds good on you.”
the room itself feels colder, the air stiff and sharp, but your skin burns in direct defiance, prickling with heat like you’ve been caught in some feverish trance. every second that ticks past, every flicker of his gaze that hooks you in, it feels as if he’s pulling you closer into his orbit, some merciless gravitational field where you have no chance of escape. he hasn’t touched you yet — hasn’t done anything you didn’t allow — but his very presence sprawls across the small room, thighs spread, elbows braced, hands flexing at his hips, a living invitation you’re not ready to admit you want to accept.
you swallow hard, extending your empty glass towards him with a lift of your brow, a flimsy attempt at defiance. “i think you’ve had enough,” he murmurs, voice languid and saturated with that dangerous knowing.
jungkook smirks, lazy and devastating, biting his lip as his fingers tap rhythmically against the bottle like he’s drumming on your nerves. you glare daggers at him, heat rushing to your cheeks, but he only lifts his palm in mock surrender, laugh curling low in his chest, before tipping the bottle anyway, pouring another shot like he knows you won’t resist. and he’s right — you don’t. you tilt it back, throat stretching, fire rushing down, and for a moment you can’t tell if it’s the liquor burning you or the way his gaze clings like a brand.
“he’s fucking it up,” he repeats, and this time it doesn’t just skim past you like some throwaway jab, it sinks and lodges itself inside the quiet, inside that thick silence that had already swallowed the room whole. the air felt so tight you could almost see it bend, like glass under pressure, and still all you could smell was him—his clothes heavy with the ghost of smoke and spice, his cologne curling into your chest until your lungs weren’t your own anymore. it was suffocating and magnetic all at once, like the way fire tilts you closer even while it warns you to back away.
“that’s a lie,” you manage, but the words are weak and stretched thin, sliding out of you while your body sinks back into the couch cushions like they’re quicksand. you feel wrung out, emptied, as though the walls you’ve spent months layering brick by brick around him had quietly dissolved into dust the second he sat too close.
his shoulders roll, dismissive. “say it’s a lie all you want, doesn’t make it true.”
it’s terrifying how stripped bare you feel, and yet it’s exactly what lures you deeper toward him. you know he’s talking about your boyfriend—of course you know, the shape of the accusation is so sharp you almost cut yourself on it—and still you can only push back with a trembling defense. “you just say shit to piss me off.”
“yeah. no fuckin’ doubt,” he shrugs, and the small roll of his shoulder is maddeningly casual compared to the gleam in his eyes. “but that’s the whole fucking point,” his body tips into yours, not all at once but in a dangerous lean, like a shadow creeping across a floor, and it rattles you—your behavior, your sanity, the small fragile scaffolding you’ve kept yourself balanced on. because he’s looking at you with a hunger that isn’t soft or patient or safe; it’s feral, glittering, the kind of hunger that melts you from the inside out while whispering that you should run. “you’re filthy hot when you’re mad,” he purrs, rolling his tongue over the syllables like he wants to taste them, eyes catching the dim light and throwing it back at you like a dare.
“and why is he so bad at it, mm?” your words wobble out, weak mimicry of his mannerisms, the ones you’d once gotten drunk on, memorizing the way he dragged vowels, how he bent consonants until they were his own. it’s ridiculous how easily your body remembers him, like muscle memory doesn’t give a damn about the calendar. you try to dress your answer in anger, but it’s flimsy armor, because the moment the last word leaves you, he moves.
he takes your legs like he’s claiming them, the shift so sudden your breath stutters, your dress shoving up high above your hips in one careless sweep, fabric bunched and useless. his hands are wide and unashamed on your bare thighs, and before your brain can blink, you’re straddled over him, perched on the heat of his lap. your lungs collapse, emptied of all air in one harsh gasp, and the tilt of his head only deepens the suffocation. “so why the fuck are you here with me,” he murmurs, voice low and sharp as a knife, “and not out there with him?” he says it like he wants an answer, but you know it’s just another trap, another hook he digs into your mouth.
his thighs burn against yours, their size obscene, twice the width of your leg, the difference making you shiver with unease and something far darker. they’re hard as stone beneath you, corded muscle pushing up so firm it feels like you’re perched on solid ground instead of a man. the tension in them thrums through you, a pulse you can’t unfeel, his hands skim up your skin, dragging fire lines, leaving you branded and marked with every inch. and the shame rises like a tide, choking you, because you can’t even remember the last time your boyfriend’s touch sparked anything close to this inferno. and here you are, undone, unraveling under the graze of the wrong man’s hands, as if you’d been starving are for this exact sin all along.
‘what are you doing? stop’ the thought flickers inside you, frantic and sharp, but it never makes it past your lips. it stays caged in the hollows of your memory, where all the forgotten reasons you left him have been gathering dust. you don’t remember who was right, who was wrong, or even why it had ended in the first place—every argument, every ultimatum feels like it belongs to someone else’s story.
because all of that dissolves the instant his hands drag down over the curve of your ass, fingers digging deep, clutching skin like he can mold it into his palms, greedy and possessive, like he wants more than what’s even humanly possible to take. his grip brands you with a claim that feels as inevitable as gravity. “tell me to fucking stop,” he hisses, hot breath skating across your neck, thick and dizzying, and your mind reels with the betrayal of your body. it’s wild, feral, the kind of want you’ve starved for, the kind you could never touch with your boyfriend no matter how many times you tried.
you shake your head—weak, trembling—but it’s a hollow protest. his lips hover so close to your skin you can feel the ghost of them, but he doesn’t kiss, and the denial is almost worse than the touch. you moan, a soft wounded sound, at the absence of what used to unravel you in one second flat. he always had that power, the ability to ignite your body with a single brush of his mouth, to mark your skin like a map he’d memorized.
god help you, but you missed it. missed him. not just the weight of him, but the way he made you feel—shameless, alive, seen. you want to deny it, claw the confession back, but it would only be lying to yourself.
“nah, baby, you gotta,” his voice drips into your ear, low and ragged, almost a groan. he buries his face into the crook of your neck and inhales like you’re oxygen he’s been starving for, like he could overdose on the sweetness of you. “fuck—you smell the same. like you knew it drives me crazy.” his teeth snap against your skin and you jolt, a sharp gasp falling apart into a moan as your hips betray you, rolling against the hard length pressing into you. his head tips back into the couch with a groan that rattles the air between you.
you seize it, that fleeting second of weakness. your hips start grinding slow, deliberate, swaying side to side, friction blooming hot and unbearable in the space where your bodies collide. the sound that claws its way out of both your throats is obscene, a harmony of remembered sin. “fuck, i missed this,” he growls, voice stretched thin with hunger, vowels drawn out into a moan that feels like it’s meant to seep straight under your skin.
“what exactly?” you manage, the words brittle, quiet, trembling on your tongue but still defiant.
“feeling you on me. the way you ride my thigh like the dirty fucking good girl you are,” he spits it out like filth that tastes too good to swallow, every syllable slick and deliberate. the vulgarity rolls off him so easily, like it’s his native tongue, and it burns through you like gasoline catching flame. your hips move faster, unthinking, the couch squeaking faintly under the rhythm, your dress shoving up until it’s nothing more than a bunched mess at your waist. his gaze cuts down without apology, locking on the black slip of your underwear, and his teeth sink into his lip in a way that makes your stomach flip inside out.
“yeah? what would your girlfriend say to that?” you throw it out sharp and biting, the words laced with venom and mockery, because who said he got to play the game alone? years with him taught you this—the art of revenge dressed up as flirtation, the satisfaction of striking where it stings.
his laugh is low and dark, a sound that slithers into your bones. “you really wanna talk about other girls when you’re grinding your pretty pussy all over my dick, mm?” his brows lift, his head tilts just enough for you to catch the wicked gleam in his eyes from under his lashes. his hands are back on your hips, firm, commanding, forcing your movements sharper, harder, like he’s choreographing the way you break apart on top of him. a sharp slap lands against your ass, loud and sudden, and you jolt forward, biting back a moan that’s already too loud.
the sting burns into pleasure, and his chuckle rides your reaction like a victory. your thighs clamp tighter around him, wetness spreading faster than your mind can keep track of, and it’s terrifying—how quickly you’re unraveling, how easily you’re remembering every dangerous reason why you should’ve never been here in the first place.
“wanna feel you, baby,” he breathes, the words sliding out like smoke, low and ragged, his hand already prying at the insides of your thighs, spreading you open with a certainty that doesn’t ask permission. “let me?” his voice is sin incarnate—thick, husky, dangerous enough to buckle your knees—and you nod without hesitation, too eager, too reckless, like your body answered for you before your mind even caught up. it’s a surrender, quick and careless, but god, you don’t care. not now. not with him this close.
his palm presses down over the flimsy barrier of your panties, dragging slow, deliberate strokes that feel almost cruel in their patience. he treats the fabric like it matters, like he’s seducing it before he devours you, and the gesture makes your throat tighten around a swallow that burns. instinct kicks in—you try to close your legs, to shrink away from the touch that feels too sharp, too soon—but his voice is there again, sharp velvet, commanding.
“nah, baby, keep ’em open for me. let me see you fall apart.” his mouth grazes your neck with kisses that are maddeningly soft, too gentle compared to the feral hunger beneath his hands, and the contradiction leaves you boneless, collapsing against him. your thighs tremble with the effort to hold steady, but he’s already anchoring you, steady as iron, unshakable as fate. the strength in him is terrifying, magnetic, and when your body keens toward his touch with a helpless whine, you realize you’ve stopped pretending to resist.
when his fingers slip beneath the thin line of your underwear, it’s like ice and fire all at once—rough fingertips dragging over silk flesh, the bite of his cold rings sending electric shivers through you. your brain dissolves into static, thought thinning into nothing but need, and before you even realize it, you’re grinding against his hand, desperate, chasing release like you’ve been starving for it. and maybe you have.
every stroke feels like theft and salvation in one, the kind of touch that breaks you down and rebuilds you in the same heartbeat. you remember every fight you ever had with him, every cutting word, every cruel goodbye—but they pale in comparison to this, to the way his fingers move in slow, devastating circles, dragging slick heat from you until you’re gasping. “fuck, you’re soaked,” he groans, the sound guttural, half moan, half growl, his body wound so tight you can feel his muscles straining against you like he’s holding himself together with sheer will.
“off… off,” you choke out, fumbling with his jacket until it slips away in a messy arc, landing somewhere at the far edge of the couch. he doesn’t even look where it falls, too focused, too intent. his hands go to his cuffs, unbuttoning slowly, deliberately, like he’s putting on a show for you, like he knows you’ll squirm from the loss of his touch and wants to drag it out. you writhe, impatient, restless, every nerve in your body screaming for him to come back, to touch you again, to not leave you hanging in this limbo.
“so needy, baby,” he growls, the words sharp with amusement but softened by the way his eyes darken when you push at his shirt, unfastening buttons with shaky fingers. the fabric parts and your gaze locks onto the ink sprawled across his chest, dark lines on flushed skin, tattoos you don’t remember, tattoos that weren’t there before. your fingers trace over them, tentative at first, then bolder, your touch dragging along the fresh pinkness of his skin. his hiss escapes before he can bite it back, a sharp inhale that confirms what you already know—he’s just as wound up as you, maybe even more.
“these weren’t here,” you whisper, fingertips ghosting across the designs, curiosity sparking hotter than you expect. “when did you get them?” the question slips out unplanned, but it lodges in you like a hook—you need the answer, need to hear him explain, even though you don’t know why.
“reckless, remember?” he mutters, voice rough, almost amused, like he’s shrugging off the weight of his own choices. “didn’t think. just did it.” and while you’re still staring at the ink, still tracing lines like they’re secrets, you don’t see the way he’s watching you—hungry, unblinking, drinking you in like he wants to memorize the shape of you on his lap, clinging to him, trying to grind out your release like you’ve done a hundred times before.
it drives him insane, the way you give in so easily, the way you let him undo you like it’s second nature. insane, intoxicating, and it makes him want more. always more. but he won’t tell you that. no, he’ll bury it deep, where you’ll never reach it. knowing it himself is enough.
he’s sick of the silence, sick of the half-truths you’ve built with someone else, and most of all he’s sick of the way you keep pretending you don’t remember how it used to be. there’s something dangerous winding through jungkook tonight, something snarling beneath the smooth veneer of his voice, and it’s all sharpened into a single intention: to break you apart, piece by piece, only to put you back together again like a toy he’s owned all along. he wants to brand you in ways no ink ever could, to stamp himself into your memory until you can’t breathe without thinking of him.
“nah, baby. your ass on my lap. now,” he murmurs, the words sliding out soft and syrupy, hot and venomous, honey wrapped tight in poison. it’s not a suggestion, not even a command—it’s inevitability dressed up in velvet.
your eyes widen, lips parting, and you don’t even get the chance to answer before he’s rolling his own eyes like he’s already tired of your hesitation, his hands closing around you with practiced ease. he flips you over onto your stomach, the motion so smooth and final it makes your heart jump, and suddenly you’re stretched out across his lap, your face turned away, his expression hidden from you.
somehow that makes it worse—your chest pressing against the couch, his thighs steady beneath you, his face an unreadable shadow behind your back—and the blindness leaves you dripping, wetter than you want to admit. when his hands drag over the curve of your ass, deliberate, possessive, you twitch beneath his touch, your body betraying you before you can school it into stillness.
then the sharp sting of his palm cracks across your skin, and the moan tears out of you raw, instant, shameless. he laughs, the sound loud and sharp, delighted, like this is a show put on for his entertainment, and you hate how much you love being the spectacle.
“he doesn’t treat this pussy good, does he?” his voice is thick velvet, rich with smoke, threaded with that iron weight of dominance he wears like a second skin. masculine and stern, but dripping with temptation, it cuts straight through you.
his fingers are already tugging your dress higher, sliding it up over your stomach until the fabric bunches at your ribs, forgotten. you can’t see it, but jungkook is biting his lip, his gaze devouring every line of you like he’s starving. your body hasn’t changed, not really, but to him you’re something else entirely—softer, tighter, maddeningly familiar yet even better than memory allowed. it’s enough to light a fire in him, a slow-burning heat that coils low and dangerous.
“say it,” he growls, his palm landing another stinging slap before circling the warmth with mock-gentle fingers, the motion like an apology he doesn’t mean, cheap and transparent.
“no,” you moan, your hips snapping back against his hand, trying to rile him, to resist his easy control. the word is defiance, thin as paper, already curling at the edges, but it’s all you’ve got. “don't wanna’”
you know he wants to hear a yes, to wring your confession from you, to make you give him that win—but you can’t, not when pride still claws at your ribs. even though every part of you knows he’s right. your boyfriend doesn’t know how to touch you, hasn’t learned the language your body speaks in moans and shudders. you’re too embarrassed to tell him, too embarrassed to admit you like it rough, that you like the sting and the dominance, when he only knows how to cradle you slow and gentle, as if passion could survive on softness alone. the memory makes you sick, that night when he abandoned you at the edge of pleasure because his phone buzzed with some meaningless call, leaving you unsatisfied, aching, humiliated.
he lets out a sharp little laugh, dark and humorless. “yeah? that why you’re dripping all over my fucking lap, baby?” another slap, harder, blooming heat across your skin. “cute. you think ‘no’ still works on me.”
you grit your teeth, hating the way your thighs tremble, hating that he’s right, hating that your boyfriend’s name feels hollow in your throat compared to the sharp edge of his voice.
“don’t play dumb,” he hisses, leaning down close enough that his breath scalds the shell of your ear. “you want me to remind you, huh? remind you what it feels like when somebody actually knows how to use you?”
your panties are gone before you realize his fingers hooked them away, carelessly shoved down to your knees like they never mattered. he nudges your hips higher, forcing your ass up, forcing your legs apart until you’re open for him, pliant, ready. there’s no ceremony, no wasted pretense, no slow introduction—he’s already catalogued the state of you, remembered the way you’re soaking, remembered the way you unravel when he skips foreplay and drags you straight into his rhythm.
he knows you like the shock of it, the unexpected tilt that makes your breath catch, and he uses it now, letting it cut into you deep. you look like someone starved, someone who’s been touched wrong for months, and the sight makes the smirk on his face curl even lazier, sharper, steeped in insolence. he’s savoring it, savoring you, like victory tastes better when you’ve been denied it for too long.
“look at you. soaked for me already. pathetic little brat, acting like you don’t miss it,” his voice curls out low and deliberate, like smoke rising from the ruin of something half-burned, and his palm comes down again in a sting that makes your skin hum, a sharp bloom of heat spreading across the curve of your ass. you can already imagine the blush of pink staining there, the faint outline of his hand etched like a claim, but still you bite down on your lip with stubborn fire, refusing him that satisfaction. he leans into it, chuckling darkly, the sound thick with arrogance. “say it. tell me who owns it.”
your body betrays you before your mouth ever could, a moan sliding free despite the barricades you try to build behind your teeth, despite all the willpower you gather to keep yourself still. his hand smooths over the same spot he punished, a soothing stroke that feels more mocking than tender, a cruel caress that says he could push harder, deeper, harsher. and you want him to. you crave the way his hand could brand you scarlet, the way pain could melt so quickly into pleasure under his touch. and underneath you, heavy and undeniable, his cock swells against your stomach, straining hard and hot through his jeans, a weapon you can’t stop thinking about, a promise that could ruin you if you let it.
his laughter spills out, rough and unrestrained, when you shake your head instead of answering, when you keep your mouth sealed around your pride. the refusal only seems to thrill him more, his eyes burning darker, his grin edged with cruelty. “that’s fine, baby. i’ll beat the ‘no’ outta you. you’ll be begging before i’m done.” the words drag across your spine like a blade, each syllable steeped in promise, and it doesn’t matter how hard you pretend—you know you’ll fold.
his accent slips thicker now, soft edges blurring into a sharper bite, that familiar lilt that always gave him away when he was turned on beyond reason. it curls into your ears, shakes you from the inside out, because you remember exactly how it used to be: how his voice would cut through you when his body had you unraveling. that memory alone makes you wetter, heat spilling down between your thighs, a slick ache that feels almost humiliating.
then his finger—long, calloused, devastatingly certain—slides inside you with no resistance at all, sinking straight to the hilt. and then his hand is on your cheek, flat and firm, shoving your face down into the couch cushion, pinning you like an animal, like you’re not even worth looking at. your nose smears against the fabric, your lips pressed shut under the weight of him, suffocated by the rough material and his unyielding grip. you try to lift your head, try to twist, but his strength crushes you down, grinding your face harder against the couch until you feel tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes. “stay down,” he snarls, low and commanding, the heel of his palm grinding into your cheekbone. “fucking stay where i put you.”
you whimper against the fabric, muffled, humiliated, your voice nothing but a vibration into the cushion.
“see? only a fucked-up loser wouldn’t give in to a pussy this good,” he mutters, vulgarity sharpened by the rasp of his voice, his words sinking into you deeper than his finger ever could. that finger curls, twists, drags against a spot inside you that you haven’t felt in months, maybe longer, and your body convulses before you can even process it, before you can brace. you try to cry out, the sound strangled and raw, but his palm clamps down over your mouth, sealing it away, swallowing your voice into silence. your eyes slam shut, your lashes wet against your skin, as if shutting him out could make it any less overwhelming.
his hand works mercilessly inside you, wrist twisting with practiced cruelty, and the pleasure burns so sharp you can hardly hold yourself together. your body writhes in instinct, hips shifting, thighs trembling, trying and failing to resist the fullness that feels too much, too invasive, too exactly what you wanted. you moan into his palm, muffled, helpless, the sound vibrating against his skin, and he only rewards you with another sharp slap below your ass, stinging the backs of your thighs this time.
his pace is brutal, two fingers slamming into you now, stretching you, prying you open with no patience, no care. your body clutches around him, helpless, strung tight, your thighs trembling under the weight of sensation. he slaps the back of your thigh sharp enough to sting, the crack echoing, and you jolt forward, face pressing even harder into the couch. your cheeks are hot and damp, smeared against the fabric, the position degrading enough to make you want to sob.
“so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, his voice all praise and mockery in the same breath. “perfect little cunt. mine. and you’re gonna take it however i give it.” his grip on your face doesn’t waver, keeping you smashed down against the cushion, forcing you to breathe shallow through your nose while he works your pussy open like it’s his personal toy. humiliation burns through you, sharp and electric, but underneath it coils that unbearable ache, that hunger that makes your hips push back into him despite yourself, shameless and needy even as he grinds your face down into the couch like you’re nothing.
“gonna talk up, brat? tell me who owns it?” his words slice right into your skin like glass wrapped in velvet, sharp enough to sting but dripping with that lazy silk he always threads through everything, that casual menace that turns your nerves inside out.
his palm drags slow down your spine, heel of his hand grazing each vertebrae, a molten line burning in his wake, until his fingers skate over the small of your back, deliberate, lingering, making every hair on your body rise like static. you arch without even meaning to, back bowing into him like your muscles are his strings to pluck, lungs caught in your throat. your ass is pink and glowing under his touch, each handprint blooming across you like a brand he’ll never let fade, a wicked gallery carved into your skin.
you breathe him in—cologne and smoke and something darker, metallic like coins pressed to your tongue. your body loves every second of it, even the sting, even the shame. words won’t crawl out of your mouth but the truth is screaming under your skin, pumping through your blood like a drug. he doesn’t need your lips to move—he’s mapped you before, he knows the slope of your spine, the quake of your thighs, the exact pitch your moan breaks at when you can’t fake anymore. the intimacy of it prickles like needles under your skin, suffocating in its precision, a closeness that feels more like ownership.
he smirks when you shake your head, lashes wet, when you try to hold onto that threadbare scrap of defiance. he likes it—he always liked it, the chase, the theater of your resistance, the way you look pretty even when you’re stubborn. it makes him hungrier, meaner, like a wolf nosing at a locked cage he already knows he can break. he doesn’t grant victories, he stockpiles them, and your orgasm is just another trophy to be denied until you crumble right where he wants you. his fingers are already coated, dripping down your thighs, and he spreads it across your ass with obscene ease, smearing it like war paint, then delivers another slap—wet, brutal, echoing. the sound bounces off the walls, ricochets back into your ears, a thunderclap paired with your own desperate cry.
you can’t even open your eyes anymore, the pleasure’s too sharp, too violent. it rips through you, folds you in half. your voice cracks out of you, high and broken, “jungkook, f-fuck, jungkook—” his name raw on your bitten lips, already swollen, shining red like fruit abused in someone’s palm.
“atta girl,” he rasps, grin edged and wicked, fingers plunging inside you so deep your body snaps tight around him. “wasn’t so hard, huh?” he pistons into you, dragging slick sounds out of you so filthy it makes your ears burn. obscene, squelching, sticky noises fill the room like a soundtrack, each one reminding you exactly how ruined you are. “hear that?” he growls low, his teeth flashing, “noise only special pussy makes.” his pace spikes sharp, punishing, and his breath is harsh in your ear, every exhale scorched with heat.
“fuck—fuck, ohhh—” it pours out of you, hips rolling, cunt fluttering around his hand. “oh god, jungkook—please..”
“nah, baby. not god. me,” his words tear through you just before the orgasm does, brutal and merciless, detonating inside you. you scream it out, body convulsing, thighs shaking uncontrollably as you gush, a messy, relentless flood soaking his hand. he groans low, satisfied, dragging his soaked fingers across you, rubbing your swollen clit until you’re kicking and squirming, overstimulated and ruined. “that’s it. fuckin’ gush all over me. my good girl.”
you’re collapsing against him, skin burning, chest heaving, hair clinging damp to your face, the whole world reduced to the couch biting at your knees and his hand dragging every ounce of aftershock out of your wrecked body. you can feel tears streaking down your cheeks, salt mixing with your lipstick, but he only smears your messier edges back into place, tugging your panties up, damp cotton sticking cruel against your folds, tugging your dress down as if the neatness could erase the wreckage.
he lifts you slow, settling you beside him like you’re breakable glass, even though you’re already cracked wide open. his tattooed hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking across your damp lashes, almost tender. “nah, baby. dick stays right here. lesson first, reward later.” he murmurs when your hand slips down greedy toward his bulge, stopping you with a smirk that cuts deeper than denial.
the couch is ruined beneath you, wet and sticky, the air still trembling with the echoes of your moans. your phone buzzes across the floor, screen flashing bright like an alarm. you look at it, lip caught between your teeth, stomach plunging when you see the name lighting up the glass. he doesn’t need to check—just points lazily with the neck of the liquor bottle in his hand, that lazy grin carved deep. his cock strains against his pants, obscene and heavy, but he strolls back to the bar like it’s nothing, like he’s untouchable, like he already knows the kind of hell waiting on the other end of that call.
and you sit there, dizzy, face wrecked, body throbbing, knowing you’ll answer anyway. knowing you’ll lie through your swollen lips.
“that didn’t happen,” you murmur, wagging your finger in protest, but it feels flimsy in the air, especially when he doesn’t even bother turning to face you, his broad back stretching beneath that thin shirt, shoulders carved sharp and muscular, a body built to defy you.
you can feel yourself splintering inside your own lie, because your body has already betrayed you. the damp heat in your panties, the way your thighs ache from clenching, the steady pulse between your legs—all of it testifies against the neat fiction you’re trying to spin. you can’t pretend with him, never could, even when you rehearsed it in your head.
“whatever,” he tosses it like a cigarette butt, flicking the word away with a careless wave, his hand slicing through the dim light, but you catch the truth in the way he hovers too long by the bottle on the bar. his fingers linger on the glass neck, restless, betraying him in a way he’d never confess.
“no, jungkook,” you insist, forcing your body upright, closing the space with steps that feel heavier than they should, dragged between want and warning. “i’m serious. this needs to stay between us.”
“yeah, yeah. got it, baby,” he answers, his voice too loose, too easy, as he toys with the empty shot glass like it’s a coin toss, spinning it against the table, catching nothing but his own reflection in the sheen.
“and don’t call me baby,” the words cut out of you harsher than intended, the edge sharper, meaner, but it feels necessary. like armor. like if you don’t wound him first, he’ll crack you wide open with that voice, those eyes, that memory of who he used to be to you.
he doesn’t fight back. doesn’t even meet your gaze. just clicks his tongue and pushes the door open, stepping aside in silence, but his body blocks out everything behind him, the width of his frame filling the doorway like an immovable wall. you hesitate only a moment, the thought of his jacket abandoned on the couch darting through your mind before you remember—this is his place. his walls, his whiskey, his shadows. the reminder makes your pulse thrum harder, because jungkook has always carried this kind of power, the kind that doesn’t need to be spoken, only felt.
when you step past him, the hallway feels too narrow, his presence trailing you like static, and then his phone is in front of your face, held out with deliberate patience. “what is this?” you ask, hating the stupidity of the question the moment it leaves your lips, cursing yourself for the way it trembles, for how obvious it makes you.
he doesn’t bite. doesn’t soothe. just answers flat, “my number,” his voice steady, face unreadable, but something in his expression pulls you back to an older version of him—the man you loved and feared in equal measure.
he’s steadier now, collected, matured in a way that makes him more dangerous. and instead of deterring you, it drags you in like a current, like you’ve always been wired to follow him even when you swore you’d swim the other way.
“don’t need it,” you snap, voice sharpened by too much confidence, a shield that doesn’t last a second.
because you see it—the corner of his mouth twitching, then curving, that lazy smirk you used to unravel under. the kind of smirk that says he’s already won, that says you’ll fold the way you always do. and you do, sighing through your own defeat as your hand betrays you, taking his phone, typing his number into yours, feeling the burn of your own betrayal creeping across your skin like fever.
“i’m goin’ other way,” he says finally, not so much a statement as a warning. your gaze betrays you once more, dragging over the tousle of his black hair, the undone buttons on his chest, the bulge in his pants that he doesn’t bother to hide. it’s a goodbye without softness, without ceremony, just a shadow breaking off into the night, leaving you breathless in his wake.
and still, you can’t shake the need. because even though you didn’t kiss him tonight, didn’t taste him, didn’t mark him with your nails or bruise him with your lips, every nerve in your body screams that you should have. you want to tear him open with your mouth, taste him raw, take him down your throat until your lungs burn. you want to kiss him like you’re rabid, like you’re starving, like the only thing that could keep you alive is him pressed against you, rough and unrelenting. you want to claim him, brand him with your scratches, your teeth, your tongue, because something deep in your mind whispers it’s wrong, while something even deeper purrs it’s the only right thing you’ve ever known.
you saw his lips before he turned away—swollen, reddish, that familiar fullness that carried charisma like perfume, a magnetism that’s always pulled you back no matter how far you’ve run. you ache for your fingers tangled in his raven-black hair, for your gaze drowned in his dark eyes, for the weight of his body caging you in. you want every inch of him, muscle and scar, the way his hands brand your skin, the way his cock always felt like the one thing that could split you open and still put you back together.
you hate yourself for it, but you’ve always compared. always measured your boyfriend against jungkook’s thickness, his skill, his merciless rhythm. and it leaves you mad, seething, hollow, because nothing ever matches. no one else ever knew what to do with you, how to play you like an instrument until you came undone, begging, unraveling under the sheer force of him.
you stumble back onto the dance floor, head light and body too loose, like you’ve been dipped in syrup and spun under the dizzying lights. the bass is heavy now, a brutal thud that pushes through your chest and rattles your bones, every beat making the room bend and sway. you’re looking for the table, hoping for the familiar sight of him, maybe a crooked smile or the comfort of his hand reaching toward yours, but when you get there, the table is stripped bare, abandoned. no jacket slung over the couch, no drink sweating onto the wood, no boyfriend waiting for you.
the air caves in. where did he go? did he actually leave you here alone? the thoughts loop and gnaw, sharp teeth tearing at the edges of your intoxication. even the music doesn’t save you this time, doesn’t drown out the ache. your phone glows in your hand, mocking. you swipe it open with trembling fingers, dread already pooling in your stomach, and there it is: fifteen missed calls from angelina, one missed call from him. you feel sick, livid, like betrayal has its own flavor—metallic, bitter, too close to blood. your chest burns. what does this mean? where the fuck is he? why isn’t he here? the word abandoned drills through your skull, louder than the bass, sharper than the vodka still ghosting your throat.
and then—contact. a hand latching onto you, so familiar your body jerks like it’s muscle memory. you’re ready to claw, ready to spit, but the spin comes too quick and suddenly you’re caught in laughter. “you look like you’ve been fucked sideways,” angelina croons, her voice jagged with amusement, her hair wild, a halo of snarled static that keeps brushing your bare arm. her eyes are glazed, but not gone; she’s been pacing herself, skating beneath the haze, watching you spiral.
“don’t scream in my face,” you hiss, venom flicked off your tongue before you even know who it’s aimed at. him? her? you?
“no one hears shit in here, dummy,” she smirks, leaning in, close enough that her words vibrate against your collarbone.
“where’s sergei?” you grind the name through clenched teeth, your fists balling at your sides. his name feels poisonous on your tongue, acid you want scraped clean.
“oh, right,” she pauses, already wincing, and you know instantly this won’t end well—not for you, but for him. “he said something about an urgent office meeting. like—seriously? midnight spreadsheets?” she adds, face tilted upward as if she’s tasting the thought, trying to decide whether it’s sour or rotten.
your knees give way the velvet cushion swallowing your weight as exhaustion smothers you. you’re still wet—shamefully, hungrily—from before, and the contradiction makes you want to claw your own skin. anger doesn’t even have the strength to stand up inside you. “he left me here,” you whisper, the edges of your voice cracking like glass. tears threaten, too close, but you bite down hard and choke them back, fumbling for your purse, already plotting your escape into a cab, into the night, into anywhere that isn’t this fucking place.
your skull pounds like a war drum, your body aches with every sway of the bass, the music is thunder and iron in your ears. the air is too thick with vodka and burnt cigarettes, making you gag even though you barely drank. it’s disgusting, and you feel disgusting, like the world is tipped sideways.
“babe, i’m with you,” angelina chirps, her tone too light, too fragile, and you glare so sharply she folds instantly, sighing as she drops into the couch beside you, legs crossing with lazy defeat.
“you don’t get it. none of it changes what he did,” your fingers rake through your hair, tugging, your movements disjointed, like you’re puppeteering your own body from a distance. even your own touch feels alien. “he left his girlfriend alone. in a club.” the words come out ragged, panicked, laced with rage, with that swelling black tide that wants to spill over and drown you.
“sucks, babe,” she mutters, her voice softened now, sympathy draped across her features. her body looks worn out too, shoulders sagging, knees angled lazily. but then her eyes spark, and the shift is sudden, slicing through the haze. “but like, tell me what your ex did to you.” her smirk curls up, unbothered, sly, dismissing everything else you just said like it’s irrelevant, like the real story is already tattooed on your face.
“what does that even mean?” you bark, but your voice wavers, the armor cracking.
“did you fuck?” she spits it with no hesitation, no filter, just truth cutting the air.
“what? no,” you snort, turning your head, your eyes darting anywhere but hers. but she pins you, like she always does. angelina’s always been able to read you better than you read yourself—sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse, and tonight it’s the latter, peeling your excuses away before you can even form them.
“don’t buy it,” she shrugs, eyes dragging over you with knowing precision, taking inventory of every flushed inch. “you’re glowing. like.. radioactive.”
her words slice straight into you, leaving your breath unsteady. glowing. fuck. she’s right. butterflies kick in your stomach, your heart still thrashing against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. every flicker of memory burns you alive—his face too close, his body pressed tight, his voice, god his voice, low and guttural, the kind that unravels you at the seams and leaves you wrecked on the floor.
“i did something bad,” you blurt, too fast, hand raised like a shield before she can pounce with her predictable ‘i told you so’s. “something unacceptable.”
she’s on you before the sentence even finishes leaving your mouth, practically collapsing into your lap like gravity itself conspired with her perfume. it’s dizzying—champagne fizz tangled with her skin-warmth and the sweet bite of her cologne, so sharp it cuts right through the bass pounding the walls. her nails scratch lightly at your arm as she leans too close, yelling in your ear like she’s been waiting all night to pounce.
“knew it,” she squeals, voice pitched above the music, slicing through air so thick with heat and laughter it almost hurts to hear. “oh my god, you’re nasty,” her lips split into a grin so wide you can see the flash of her teeth even in strobe light, her hand shooting up like a shield to half-cover her own face—like she’s embarrassed at how much she’s laughing, except she’s not, she’s letting it bubble over, shaking her shoulders with it.
you shove her off a little too roughly, annoyance and shame crackling hot under your skin, but she just swings herself right back in, pressing into your side, those wide wet eyes fixed on you—puppy, pitiful, relentless. and it’s that look, the one that always makes your chest cave, that cracks you open.
“had the best orgasm of my life,” you blurt, muffled into your palms, hands slapped over your face like that’ll hide the memory slamming back into you in jagged reels. “fuck.”
she gasps, too delighted, leaning back just enough to beam at you like she’s announcing your sins to the ceiling. “he looks like walking sex,” she chirps, sing-song, nails tapping against her glass before she tips it back, watching you like she wants to see your reaction splinter you in half.
you don’t give her the satisfaction. your jaw locks tight, your eyes dead on the dance floor, though the words ricochet inside you until your bones rattle. walking sex. she’s right, too right. you’ve always known it—known him like a religion. jungkook isn’t beautiful, not in the flimsy way people throw that word. he’s myth spun into flesh, something stitched too finely for earth. his face, his mouth, that impossible pull of him—it’s all magnetic oil-slick, black tide, quicksand that swallows and swallows. you’d go under every time, no breath, no struggle. you’d beg to drown.
her tone softens suddenly, the fizz of her laughter fading into something steadier, an anchor disguised in sweetness. “you can lean on me, yeah?”
you inhale sharp, guilty, because angelina—angelina has earned this. she stayed when no one else did. picked you up when you weren’t even worth the weight. stitched you back together when you unraveled ugly. and over these long months she’s moved from friend to something deeper, sister-blood, the mirror that still chooses to see you clear.
“i know,” you manage, voice low, your head heavy, dropping like your body doubled in weight. “i feel terrible.”
“don’t,” she cuts, quick, sharp, like snapping a rope before it knots. her finger lifts—pointed, scolding—narrowing her eyes like she’ll pierce the truth straight into you. “you did it all right. he’s a slippery guy. never gonna take that back.”
“why would he—” you start, brows pulled tight, but she just shakes her head, her certainty flattening you before you can finish.
and deep down, under your practiced denial, you know exactly what she means. sergei. his name feels foreign even in your head. you met him on ground that was shaky from the start, that club haze of flashing lights and bitter liquor, the smell of sweat and perfume blurring into chaos. it was the night you broke with jungkook, the night your heart was still raw and bleeding, and the loudest voice inside you demanded something reckless, a distraction, a body that wasn’t his. and sergei was there, convenient, and you let yourself reach. one night, you told yourself. one night to fill the hollow.
but the night spun into another, and another, until you found yourself cornered into something you hadn’t chosen. he asked to see you again, pressed insistently, and before you could even catch your balance you were in the middle of a relationship you never wanted. you warned him, over and over, that you weren’t ready, that your veins still pulsed with the afterburn of jungkook, but he didn’t care. he pushed, he smoothed over your refusals until they frayed, and somewhere in the cracks you gave in without even realizing.
he loves you, in his way—soft hands, gentler words, like a blanket that smothers instead of warms. but it never seeps to the bone. jungkook’s love was fire, confidence, atmosphere itself bending to hold you. sergei is tighter, like ropes, like he’s guarding something fragile or dangerous—like he doesn’t trust the light to touch you. you’ve fought about it, again and again, his insistence that you’re too unpredictable, too dangerous to trust fully, his accusations that you could betray him on a whim. he’s turned it on you more than once, made you feel guilty for what you aren’t, for what you’ve already bled dry.
and that’s why tonight stings strange: sergei, who never leaves you unchained, who hoards you quiet, who hates letting you out of his sight—he left you here. in a club, free, unguarded, no leash around your wrist. and the thought gnaws, because maybe he’s slipping. maybe he knows. maybe deep down he feels it too—that you’re already reaching for the only man who ever made your body hum alive.
—
you slam the door so hard the echo rattles through the hall, the movement of your hips deliberately exaggerated, a sway that’s equal parts defiance and exhaustion, because if someone close to you is going to treat you like shit, then the least you can do is leave like a storm. the apartment is empty, predictably so, a vacuum of silence swallowing you whole. of course he wasn’t waiting—of course sergei called you a cab and checked you off his list as if that was enough, as if that counted for care.
one missed call, one apologetic gesture, as if crumbs could count as a meal. you’ve always believed, with a certainty as sharp as glass, that if a person wants you, truly wants you, they’ll move heaven and earth, they’ll rearrange the world just to get to you. sergei used to be that person, charging forward, unstoppable, but now he hides behind late-night meetings that sprout like weeds, choking everything else.
your heels kick free, your purse and jacket collapse into the couch without ceremony, your body too heavy with the day to care where anything lands. the bathroom light burns bright against your eyes as you strip your clothes away, every button and strap flung like proof of your irritation, and you step into the shower like it’s the only absolution left. the water scalds your skin and you welcome it, scrubbing harder than necessary, not just at the city grime but at the suffocating weight of responsibility, of silence, of being kept small.
you tell yourself not to think about jungkook, not to picture the phone number you still haven’t deleted, not to imagine his knock at your door instead of anyone else’s, but the thought hangs stubborn and electric. you know that if you called, he would come.
when you step out, steam drapes itself across the room like heavy velvet, but you ignore it, pulling yourself straight into the shared bedroom you already resent. your hair damp against your shoulders, your glasses perched back in place, the book in your hands becomes a shield, a performance. you’ve already rehearsed tonight’s script in your head—you’ll be cold, you’ll be composed, you’ll be above everything, even him. you’ve told yourself over and over there is no equality in love, that someone always tips the scale, and tonight you’ve decided it will be you.
the yellow glow of the bedside lamp softens the room, but not you. when you hear the front door creak, when footsteps drag closer, you don’t look up, not even when the knock sounds and the door opens. bags shoved through first, his monotone apology floating after them—“dry sweet red wine ‘n your favorite cake.” it makes you want to laugh, or cry, or roll your eyes so far back you’ll never see him again. he enters in his suit, hair mussed, his face worn raw from rubbing at it too many times, and it’s pathetic, this tableau of weary devotion. “baby, i’m so sorry,” he says, placing the offerings beside you before lowering himself at the edge of the bed, as if his proximity is a privilege.
you don’t spare him a glance. the words scrape past your ears like background noise. “you have to understand me, this is work, i couldn’t do otherwise,” he starts, and that’s what makes your eyes snap up, a sharp twist of anger unraveling through you.
“couldn’t do otherwise? otherwise how? do you even know what conscience means?” the words hiss off your tongue, brittle with disbelief.
“just—don’t make a scene, i’m done, baby, i’m tired,” he sighs, pressing his palms to his face like the gesture alone absolves him.
and maybe you should understand, maybe you should swallow it down the way you have so many times before, because yes, he works hard, yes, he makes sure you never want for the glossy things—clothes, dinners, little luxuries. but the trade-off is always your loneliness. it’s the empty side of the bed, the hollow silence when he vanishes for nights, the way he reduces love to balance sheets. you’ve told yourself every couple has rough seasons, that patience is strength, but patience feels like rot in your chest now, and you’re too aware of time slipping fast, too aware of how much more you want.
“you’re tired..” you repeat back to him, every syllable deliberate, tasting the bitterness before setting the book aside, removing your glasses with unhurried precision. “and i’m tired of your excuses.”
“don’t guilt me. you want the life, the nice things, don’t pretend you don’t,” he shoots back, jacket sliding into his lap, his voice teetering between defense and accusation.
your mouth opens, sharp words already forming, but he cuts you off, a venomous edge in his tone: “cut the crap. all girls are like that. all y’all want money ‘n shiny shit.”
it’s like a crack of thunder in your chest, the sound of blood rushing cold. “so what, i’m a burden to you? extra trouble you don’t need?”
he laughs, lips curling as his hand drags across his mouth, smug and slippery. “you always twisting my words.”
“nah. answer the question,” your eyes lock onto his, demanding, burning, but what stares back is emptiness, distance, a void where love should live.
“i know i fucked up, i admit it,” he says finally, with a smile that feels crooked, practiced, manipulative. “but don't act like i’m a moster,”
“you think one sorry fixes shit?” you shift, rising slightly, inching away from him, because even this closeness feels dangerous, suffocating. “you jealous of every man breathing, but you leave me stranded in a club?”
“fuck, yes, i know, i know, stop throwin it back at me!” he explodes, his voice cracking the fragile calm, his hand rising in a gesture too sharp, too violent. and in that instant, fear slices through you, raw and ugly, your throat tightening around a swallowed gasp as you brace for something you don’t want to believe possible.
he saw your reaction and the shift of your face made him inhale deeper, more serious, like the weight of the air itself pressed too heavily against his ribs. his fingers trembled at the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one with the urgency of a man suffocating, as though the fabric clinging to his chest was cutting off his oxygen supply.
“baby, i’m sorry. shit, i don’t know what else to do,” he muttered, voice dragged low, almost unraveling. his hand slipped through his black hair in that nervous rhythm you’d memorized long ago, strands falling rebelliously across his forehead. his features looked impossibly soft in that dim light, but at the same time sharp, chiseled with a tension that could slice glass, and for one impossible second you remembered how easy it once was to lean into those contradictions.
you tried to keep the anger alive, but your pulse betrayed you, and underneath the heat of it a thin thread of fear wove itself through—fear for his reaction, fear for yourself, fear for the inevitability of falling into the same old orbit. so you swallowed it down, deciding in that fractured moment to let it go, to hell with cold shoulders and promises you made to yourself in nights of loneliness. they never changed his attitude anyway, never bent him into someone easier to love.
“forget it. i guess i’m overreacting. that’s all,” you murmured, your eyes sliding away from him, catching instead on the bent corners of the book on the nightstand, clinging to details that could distract you from the quaking pull of his presence.
he only shook his head and smiled, that tired little curve that felt more like surrender than charm, before sitting closer, his silhouette dipping toward you in a slow lean meant for your lips. but you turned your face just in time, and his mouth landed on your forehead instead, warm but unsatisfying, a gesture that only fed your simmering anger.
“my boss invited me to dinner next week,” he said casually as he stood, his hands already working at the buttons of his shirt, fabric falling loose like the words themselves. “it’s a shared dinner, so you should come with me,” he glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, catching your reflection in the mirror before him, gauging you like he always did when he wasn’t brave enough to look directly.
“should?” the word came out sharp, pressed between your teeth, nerves rising like static. you waited for the answer you already knew.
“please,” he corrected softly, lowering himself back onto the bed, immediately winding his arms around you with the kind of insistence that left you no space to breathe. “it’s just dinner, you won’t even notice how time flies,” he added, coaxing you the way he always did, the tone sliding under your skin until refusal felt heavier than surrender.
you bit down on your lip, a small self-inflicted pain to anchor yourself, but in the end you sighed, that little white flag spilling out of your lungs before you could swallow it back. “fine.”
“perfect,” he said simply, slipping on the glasses that always lived on the shelf above the bed, his laptop following quickly after. his attention shifted instantly, screen glow illuminating the angles of his face, and he mumbled a goodnight like an afterthought. you turned away, the familiar irritation rising as the white-blue light kept you awake, and you knew he would never notice. he never asked why you turned your back, never wondered if it was more than a habit, never cared enough to press past the silence. his ignorance was its own kind of violence, blunt and unyielding.
—
the week blurred in fast-forward, days collapsing too quickly until the dinner circled around on the calendar like an inevitability you’d tried not to dread. your boyfriend was good at his job, maybe too good, efficient and tireless, but still a long climb from anything resembling a director’s chair. excellence without power, diligence without the keys to the kingdom. and yet, in the quiet way he worked, he was always rewarded as the best employee, the dependable one, the man who could be trusted with weight but not given the throne.
the restaurant loomed vast when you arrived, its exterior understated compared to the grandeur inside. stained glass stretched wide across the walls, catching the light of the floor lamps and scattering it like broken jewels. the wallpaper curled in intricate asian patterns, golden cranes soaring against burgundy skies, delicate flowers painted with a patience that felt centuries old. you were led to a private room tucked behind heavy wooden doors, and you knew immediately this was the kind of place people like sergei—people who could afford separation, seclusion, superiority—called their regular haunt.
and then your heart stopped.
because the silhouette standing at the head of the table twisted your stomach inside out, spun your world on its axis until your knees gave way in your imagination, until you swore you might collapse onto the floor in reality. everything in you screamed to crawl backwards, to undo your steps, to flee before the room closed in around you. you cursed yourself silently, cursed your outfit that felt suddenly wrong, too simple and too obvious, not enough for this circle and yet far too much for the ghost sitting at its center.
jungkook.
he was here, of course he was, because fate had the cruelest sense of humor. grey cashmere suit pressed sharp against his frame, a black tie cutting neat down the front of a beige shirt, cufflinks glinting with subtle arrogance at his wrists. the tattoos you knew too well spilled out beneath the sleeves, those same black strokes you once traced in the shadows of a club vip room, that night you swore you would forget but never really did. his hair, his posture, the slight twitch of his jaw—all of it hit you like a memory resurrected in flesh.
and before you could make sense of that, another figure slipped in through the doorway, a girl at his side. the one you’d seen with him before, the one you tried to write off as a one-night mistake, only now it was clear she wasn’t. the way she walked into the room, comfortable, steady, familiar—it told you everything. she was his girlfriend. maybe had been for longer than you wanted to imagine.
your stomach knotted, bile sharp in your throat, because the weight of what you’d allowed, what you’d done, pressed down heavier than the air in that closed room. unjustified. unacceptable. the words screamed in your skull, but they changed nothing. you were already sitting there, and he was already across from you, and every corner of the night was poisoned before it even began.
“is this the girl you’ve been hiding, sergei?” his voice slices through the chatter like velvet sharpened on steel, and his gaze drags over you in one deliberate sweep—from head to toe, skin to bone—devouring, assessing, undressing, making it abundantly clear that there’s no surface of you he hasn’t already claimed in his mind.
you catch the faint flicker of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip, and your stomach twists. once, you would’ve called it a nervous tic, some useless habit, but you know him too well now—you know every feigned gesture he uses as a weapon. he does it for you. he does it to remind you how easily your body used to fold for him. you swallow, eyes wide, throat too tight to mask the shock of realization: your boyfriend’s boss, the untouchable man sitting at the head of the table, has been jungkook this whole time. not just the elusive ceo with his hands in every market, not just the owner of the glitter-drenched nightclub you’ve heard whispered about—he is him. the him you tried to cauterize from your memory. and yet here he is, alive and smirking, another secret tossed into his piggy bank of power.
“what can i say, man,” sergei replies with an overfed confidence that makes your teeth ache. he skips any respectful pronouns, throws the words out too casually, and you brace for retaliation. but jungkook doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. the absence of reaction is somehow worse, like his silence is louder than anything else at the table.
he gestures you toward the long mahogany table, his touch ghosting your lower back like he owns the air around you, and your skin burns where he doesn’t even touch. the table is pristine, staged like a photograph—gleaming cutlery, candles that look sculpted rather than lit, plates waiting to be dirtied. you sit opposite his girlfriend, tiffany, a name that fits too neatly: glossy, sharp, unbothered. she scrolls on her phone without shame, acrylics tapping like percussion. if this dinner is a circus, then she is the disinterested queen in her glass box, while you’re still wide-eyed enough to play audience.
with a snap of invisible fingers, food begins appearing as if conjured—bowls and platters steaming, sauces too artful to be real. everything smells divine, looks poisoned, and tastes too good to trust. you chew mechanically, hyper-aware of the weight of his stare. every time you look up, his eyes are already there, drilling into you, and every time you dart away to another safe object—a wine glass, a flicker of candlelight—you hear it: the quiet exhale of his laughter, the smirk you don’t have to see to feel.
“what about the exhibition i made you the director of?” jungkook finally speaks, leaning into the silence with a confidence so heavy it feels like his words might sink the table. you could drown in that smug cadence alone, and the idea disgusts you almost as much as it excites you.
sergei clears his throat too loudly, fumbling, grabbing water as if it will shield him. “everything went great, there was more press than we thought.”
jungkook hums, low, approving but unconcerned. his girlfriend chooses that moment to enter the performance, her voice airy, unguarded, laced with a softness that makes you instantly suspicious. “jungkook and i were at that exhibit,” she says, almost carelessly, “giant canvases, just enormous. i told him they were too big to even fit in someone’s house.”
he leans back in his chair, the leather sighing under his weight, his presence expanding until it crowds your lungs. “depends where you put ‘em,” he smirks, a smirk so deliberately slow it makes your thighs tighten under the table. “sometimes the biggest things slip in easier than you think.”
heat floods you, the room tilting like you’ve been doused in scalding water. the meat on your tongue turns to ash. sergei notices your silence, slides his arm around your shoulders like a bandage, his hand fumbling for yours, extending water with a clumsy sort of concern. “honey, is everything okay?” he whispers, all worry and no teeth. you nod, grateful for the glass but cursing the tremor in your hands.
you tilt your drink, and in that sliver of warped reflection you see it—jungkook’s stare, unblinking, burning holes through you. how no one else notices it is beyond you. maybe they’ve been conditioned not to look too long, maybe they’ve already surrendered to his gravity. tiffany hasn’t lifted her head from her phone in twenty minutes, and sergei’s already buried in his plate again. you are alone in the war he wages with his eyes.
conversation ricochets around the table, swinging between intimate and careless, the tone so informal you can barely reconcile it with the professional hierarchy you thought existed. but you realize—jungkook doesn’t set limits. not at work, not in life. he drags people into his orbit and demands they treat him as equal while never forgetting he is above them. you used to admire this. you used to crave it. now it terrifies you.
then you feel it—something sliding up your leg, silk disguised as leather. you inhale sharply, a gasp too obvious, so you drown it with a sip of water, coughing it into silence. it’s his foot. his polished black shoes press against your ankle, then glide higher, casual as breathing. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t falter. he just tips his glass, amber whiskey catching the light, laughing at some mediocre joke.
tiffany breaks again, bright and oblivious. “so we’re at the gym yesterday, right? and his trainer keeps saying, ‘don’t overdo it, you’ll wear yourself out,’ but he never listens. he just keeps going, like, hours.” she giggles, sweet and stupid. “no breaks.”
sergei hums approval, lifting his wine. “discipline. it’s hard to work with.”
jungkook crosses his legs, the motion slow, deliberate, the aura rolling off him almost blinding. “breaks are overrated. if you know how to pace yourself, you can last all night.”
the words slam into you, freeze your hand halfway to your mouth. are you imagining the subtext? are you insane enough to believe it’s meant for you? the thought makes you dizzy, but then his foot plays with your ankle again, teasing, lifting, lowering, slow like a secret rhythm only the two of you hear. you want to groan, to shudder, to betray yourself, but you clear your throat, clutch the glass tighter.
“all night?” you ask, your voice steadier than you feel, your gaze cutting across the table to meet his.
he lifts a brow, his smirk a dagger. “yeah. all night.” his voice is low, rich, deliberate, and you feel it coil through your spine.
you straighten, pretending composure, forcing adulthood onto yourself like a costume you can barely keep buttoned. the table slips quiet again until sergei, oblivious, babbles about deadlines and late nights at the office. “pulled an all-nighter for the team,” he brags, chest puffed.
jungkook cuts him without effort. “all-nighter’s easy if you got the right motivation.”
tiffany isn’t offended. she takes a sip of wine, playing at ignorance with unnerving skill. “motivation… like bonuses?”
“mm,” he rolls his glass in his hand, whiskey catching firelight, smirk curling like smoke. “more like when somethin’ feels too good to stop.”
your lungs feel like they’re singed from the inside out, every inhale raw, every exhale molten, because the pressure of his thigh locked between yours has your body coiled tight and traitorous, your muscles betraying you by clenching around him. you hate that he remembers this is your weakness, hate it more that you can’t disguise the way it unravels you. your hand flies to your mouth like instinct, covering it, trying to trap the moan that trembles up your throat—the moan no one in this room is waiting for, the sound that would snap the whole fragile illusion in half.
but you can already feel the edges fraying when she leans in again, his girlfriend, her voice silk-slick and deliberate, words sharpened like she’s rolling them across her tongue just to watch the way they slice into you. and god, the worst part is you’re waiting for it—you’re waiting for her to do it again, to lick at you with those long, teasing syllables, because every time she speaks you feel the heat crawl higher, a humiliating, dangerous thrum that you can’t silence. and the way jungkook sits there, monotone and detached, answering her in that infuriatingly casual way, only makes it worse—because you know his indifference is a mask, the same mask he wore when he wanted to break you apart with nothing but patience.
“jungkook’s got this thing where he never quits until i’m literally begging him to stop. so stubborn,” she croons, and the smirk that twitches her lips is a tell she probably doesn’t mean to give away, her body angled just so, her eyes flicking not at him, not even at her phone, but at you. again and again. like she’s testing you, like she knows something you don’t, or worse, like she knows everything you’re trying to keep quiet.
the air is stretched taut, seconds dragging slow, until another sound interrupts it—sergei moving in the corner, tugging open the cabinet, clinking bottles as he digs out another one at jungkook’s request. it buys a sliver of distraction, but not enough. you’re still stuck between them, caught in the middle like the hinge of some cruel design—jungkook lounging on one side of you, his girlfriend sprawled on the other, scrolling on her phone now with a deliberate kind of disinterest, like she’s bored of her own performance. her leather chair groans as she leans back, head tilted, pretending not to see the tension crackling like static between you and the man she calls hers.
then jungkook finally decides to speak, voice smooth as whiskey, slow as sin. “nah,” he drawls, tongue dragging along his lip in a way that feels aimed, precise. “i don’t stop till i know it’s all wrung out.”
and he isn’t looking at her. he isn’t looking at anyone but you. his eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, lock onto yours, and the burn in them makes you feel like you’re already naked, like he’s undressing you layer by layer with nothing but that stare and the taste of liquor still wet on his tongue. his hand lifts his glass, amber swirling, and he takes a sip without breaking the hold he has on you, without so much as blinking. you feel the pressure of his thigh shift again, pressing, insisting, and this time you decide you won’t just sit there and let him play his game. if he wants to test you, you’ll test him right back.
your heels click against the floor as you move, the arch of your foot finding his polished shoe, the sharp point of your stiletto pressing down—not enough to hurt, just enough to mark your presence, to leave him with something to remember. your tongue wets your lips unconsciously, the gesture too quick to disguise, and before the moment can expand you’re pushing yourself up from the chair, rising smoothly, your eyes carefully avoiding his face. but not before you catch it—the way his teeth sink into his lip, the flicker of his throat working as he pretends to clear it, disguising the sound like nothing happened. your mouth curves at the edges, sharp with satisfaction, even as you murmur your excuse, polite and shallow.
“bathroom,” you say, the word soft but final, and then you slip out, freeing yourself from the room before the storm in your chest can spill over, before anyone else can notice that you’re already drenched in it.
you don’t even get the chance to slip through the crowd, don’t even have the grace of one more steady breath, when from the dim corner a hand snakes out fast and sure, catching you by the wrist and spinning you with such force that the world tilts. before you can gasp, before you can register who’s caught you, his burning eyes are right there, dragging you into their orbit—dark and dangerous, heavy with hunger and lust so scorching it singes your skin just to be looked at like that.
then his mouth is on yours, crashing, stealing, claiming, and you can’t keep yourself steady under the weight of it. his lips are fever-hot, his kiss raw and wet, and those hands—those big, rough, unrelenting hands—frame your face like he’s holding you in place for the rest of your life. you stumble back instinctively, searching for an anchor, your palms brushing uselessly against the cold wall, but he’s quicker, stronger, greedy. jungkook’s grip cinches around you and reels you back in, chasing your mouth each time you try to break away, persistent like a man obsessed, lips hunting yours like pursuit is all he’s ever known.
“don’t run from me, baby. i’m done with it,” he growls against your lips, his thigh sliding firm between your legs before you realize what’s happening. the pressure makes your chest hitch, a sharp sigh escaping you, and then his other hand is at your waist, fingers digging so deep into your dress you’re sure he’ll leave bruises there, purple-blue signatures stamped into your skin.
you’re breathless, head buzzing with oxygen loss and desire that tangles in your veins like wildfire, cheeks blazing hot. “what the fuck are you doing here?” your words stumble out in fragments, shaky, breaking against the rhythm of his kiss.
he doesn’t answer in any way that soothes you, only presses closer, pinning you into the wall like he’d rather die than give you an inch of space. “boring without you in it.” the words sound like sin coated in velvet, half confession, half accusation.
you roll your eyes because that’s the only defense left in your arsenal, but your teeth sink into your lip, betraying you, betraying the heat that coils low in your stomach. “we shouldn’t. we can't—” you place your hand against his chest, pretending it’s to push him away, though your fingers are already tracing the soft fabric of his shirt, the rise of his breath beneath it.
“don’t care. i want.” his reply lands sharp, insistent, lips swollen, pink and glistening from your kiss. he looks carved out of temptation itself, mouth begging to be kissed again, and every inch of you aches to obey.
“it’s wrong, jungkook,” you whisper his name like a sin, and he groans into the column of your throat, the sound hot and low, vibrating against your skin. his cologne curls around you, sharp spice and lingering musk, the same scent that once made you dizzy on sheets you never wanted to leave.
you try to twist your head away, to pull free from his mouth, but he only smirks, lazy and cocky, his lips ghosting your skin. “yeah. say my name again.”
“you’re insane,” you gasp, trying to twist away, but his hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing beneath your lip, holding you still.
he smirks, slow and lethal. “insane for you. same difference.”
your laugh cracks, jagged, desperate. “god, you talk so much shit.”
the moment unravels you, weakens your knees, and when his tongue parts your lips you lose the battle entirely. he kisses like a man who knows your body’s cheat codes, who knows how to make you pliant, desperate, trembling beneath him with nothing more than his tongue sliding deep, coaxing moans from your chest. you slam your fist against his chest in some futile spark of resistance, but it’s weak, laughably so, and he catches your wrist midair, locking your fingers with his and pressing it hard into the wall beside your head, a reminder of how easily he cages you.
“jungkook. stop—” you manage, gasping around his kiss, your body arching into him even as your words fight against it. every part of you aches to surrender—to give him your body, your heart, your mind, all of it—but your head screams impossibility, screams no.
“nah. other way ‘round, baby.” his lips curl wider, a dark grin between kisses, and when you glance at him you catch the glint of his mole beneath his bottom lip, so close you could trace it with your tongue, the tiny mark you used to kiss like it was yours.
his tongue is merciless, practiced, the wet slide of it making you shudder as he presses closer, hands everywhere all at once. it feels like a reunion dressed in chaos, his grip carving bruises into your waist, his palms groping lower, sliding to your ass, kneading you until the moan rips out of you against your will. the sound slips into his mouth, and you feel him smirk into the kiss, arrogant, savoring.
“tell me and i’ll guit.” his voice is hoarse, his hand bruising your hip like possession, like theft. “just one word.”
“you won’t quit for shit.” your smirk bites back, your eyes daring him, because you know him—you’ve always known. rules were never meant for jungkook, and if there’s a line in the sand, he’ll be the first to ruin it.
“fuck yeah—know me too fuckin' good.” his tone is molten, reverent and filthy at once, his hand sliding back up your body until his fingers hook around your chin, holding it between them. he tilts your face to him like he’s reclaiming something stolen, his thumb brushing your lip as if he’s about to devour it again.
his hips press flush against yours and the world folds inward, shrinks down until it’s nothing but the weight of him covering you, powerful and vast and male in a way that feels ancient. his body is so broad it eclipses yours, eats the space around you until you’re half swallowed by him, and instead of fighting it you let yourself float, drifting in that spell like it’s velvet smoke curling into your lungs.
his lips find you again, dragging you deeper into trance, and you don’t care that the hallway’s open, don’t care if footsteps echo by, don’t care if you’re bare and undone in the center of the party—you’d let the whole world witness if it meant this moment could stretch endless, if it meant you could keep diving into the labyrinth of jungkook’s hunger, knowing he’d never hand you the map out.
but then something shifts. it rushes over you like cold water, sharp and intrusive, and suddenly you remember, too vividly, too sharply. “you hurt me before,” you whisper, your voice a crackling thread in the thick heat between you. your breath is ragged, your chest scraping for air, and his face is too close—his hair mussed from your fingers tangled so desperately in it, his mouth damp from your kiss.
his gaze doesn’t waver. his eyes dig into yours, searching, haunting, like if he stares hard enough the answer will rise up between your lashes. his arms only tighten, biceps flexing as they lock around your lower back, anchoring you to him, your thighs clenching around the solid heat of his cock.
“don’t start with that,” he cuts, low and serrated, like every syllable’s dragging across his teeth. “don’t fuckin’ start. i’d do everything—hear me?—everything—to never let it happen again.” his hand comes up slow, reverent, cupping your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he’s too rough.
and still—you lean into it. you tilt into that palm, reckless, because somehow his touch is both punishment and salvation, because no one else has ever made you feel this contradictory peace, this oxygen disguised as fire. “we can’t erase the past,” you murmur, the words slipping before you can bite them back, and instantly regret scalds your throat. his face hardens at once, unreadable, anger simmering under the skin.
his brows knit low, his jaw shifting sharp from side to side, nostrils flaring with something volcanic. but you can tell—god, you can tell—that the fury isn’t aimed at you, it’s aimed at himself. because when his fingers claw back to your waist, when his grip bruises into the curve of you, it’s not softness but a harsh kind of reverence. he touches you like you’re both sacred and ruined.
“erase, no. but the future—” he grinds the word like gravel between molars— “the future’s mine to change. ours.”
the kiss is a war. he devours you like proof, like if he presses hard enough you’ll remember what only he can give. your head tips back under the onslaught, his mouth hot and sloppy down your throat, wet trails smeared across your skin like possession. you choke around the words, fighting a lump in your throat, “there’s no future. there’s no us.” you keep your grip in his hair but it’s shaky, traitorous, because you watch how his face twists darker, angrier, his silence thickening the air itself.
“don’t fuckin’—don’ fuckin' talk like that,” he snarls, teeth clashing as he drags them over your neck, biting, pulling muffled moans from you like confessions.
“you’re not my boyfriend. not mine.” you push again, needling, cruel in your denial because you want the breaking point, you want to see how far you can pull him.
he drags a groan through his teeth, raw and guttural. “baby, stop. please. i can’t—i’ll lose my goddamn mind.”
the thought is poison and honey at once—that you want him to snap, to pin you down right here under the flickering hallway light, to ruin you in front of anyone, everyone, to mark again in public what’s already true in secret. the thought burrows in, treacherous, and you can’t shake it because it feels right, more right than anything else has in months. you want his fingers splitting you open, his cock driving you to incoherence, his body hammering the point of ownership into you until you’re wrecked.
“watch your tone,” he growls, hand cracking against your ass with sharp sting. you only grab for him harder, dragging his neck down so his hungry lips smash back into yours, your moan spilling into his mouth like surrender.
“you did hurt me. you might do it again,” you confess, your voice breaking into his kiss, the words a plea and a dare, tangled with the wet suck of his mouth. he’s pulling harsher at your hips now, his grip steel, his body taut like he’s terrified of losing you to your own words. “stop saying that, fuck” he bites out, squeezing your waist so tight you can feel each pulse of his fingers branding the shape of you. “never again. you hear me? never fuckin’ again.”
“then why?” your hands cradle his face, nails digging into his jaw as you try to hold him still, to keep him from swallowing you whole again.
“was mad. fucked up. lost it. that's it.” he spits, a near-growl, his eyes blown so wide it’s dangerous. he’s starved for you, ravenous, and you see it in the dilation of his pupils, in the strain of his lips trembling with everything he hasn’t said.
“what about your girlfriend?” you bite, the word sour as venom, scalding your own tongue.
he flinches—like you do—at the mention, his face curling as if even hearing her existence disgusts him. “much more complicated,” is all he manages, and you know it’s the dead end it sounds like.
you glare, lip trembling. “that’s all you’ve got?”
his stare burns back, black hole wide. “complicated’s already too fuckin’ generous.”
yet his arms reel you in tighter, his mouth plastering desperate, wet kisses until your lips spark with static, until they feel claimed, tingling, numbed by his electricity. the rhythm of it is so reckless you nearly miss the sudden intrusion—footsteps, closer, then closer still. jungkook moves fast, clutching your hips, dragging you down the corridor into shadow. the air tightens. he corners you against the wall, his palm flat above your head, his chest shielding you in the dark. his eyes gleam, wild and bright, though they flicker away to track the sound until the steps fade into distance.
when the silence returns, you collapse into him, your body pressing desperate to his chest, his muscles iron under your palms. he holds you everywhere—one hand tangled in your hair, the other caging your lower back—before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
“what have we done?” you whisper, hollow and small, your heart collapsing under the weight of your own desire, the contradiction of being right where you want to be and knowing it’s the wrongest place of all.
“it’s all gonna be alright, sweetheart. swear it.” his voice is a bassline that hums through you, rich, deep, devastating. and you know, with that cruel clarity, that promises mean nothing against the truth—that no matter what he swears, no matter how sweet his lips taste when he lies, there is no future here. only this. only him. only now.
✦ boyfriend!bakugou that fucks you while you complain about your bad day
you don't know what you used to do to relax after a hard day before. but what you do know is it wasn't nearly as effective as this was.
nothing could be as effective as venting all your frustration to your boyfriend while he massages all the tension out your muscles including the one inside you.
"can you believe he- ah! mm~ yelled at me for that..?" you complained, throwing you head back in ecstasy. katsuki repositions you on the pillow he placed under your back. something he started doing because you were always complaining about the back pain you had after you two fucked.
it's proven successful, you've had less back pain since then. you'd probably have none if katsuki didn't go for so long. he bring your legs over his shoulder, leaning further into you. his chain hangs just over you skin, cold metal grazing you're skin when his thrust get particularly deep.
"no i can't.." his eyes stay focused on the way is cock plunging into your pussy, only looking up occasionally to gauge your reaction when he does something different. if you didn't know better you'd think he was distracted but katsuki's always been a exceptional listener. and an even better multi-tasker. bringing up things you said in passing, yapping in his ear while he filled out paper work. things you forgot you said yourself, because when did you tell him that you liked the toilet paper under rather than over?
katsuki stares at you now, eyes half-lidded but still determined. "'m listening, baby.. then what?" his words come out so sweetly just above a whisper. breathless and raspy, like he's doing everything to hold back the moan stuck in his throat. he never lets you hear his whimpers and whines during sex no matter how much you tell him how attractive it is. only letting them out freely when he's overstimulated or tired. like when you take care of him after a bad day.
"then he kept bitching and moaning all.. oh my god- right there katsu~! hah.." katsuki perks at that mimicking that exact thrust over and over.. rubbing your clit with the hand that wasn't pining you down. "yeah..? right here?" he's voice louder now like that reaction gave him a boost of energy. you nod rapidly, the feeling of his mushroom tip against your g-spot wiping all remnants of your bad day from your head.
and this time he doesn't ask you to continue because he knows you no longer remember, just like he wanted.
✦ boyfriend!bakugou that's becomes clingy but doesn't want to admit it.
katsuki has found himself craving your touch more and more often. not even that he just needs likes feeling your presence near him.
he swears his hand teleports onto your thigh, shoulder or arm when you near. arm wrapping around your waist, finger slipping into you belt loop. it shocks him every time but he's not gonna move his arm now, your is nice after all..
following you into the next room when you get up to do something because he just likes seeing you.. and the room suddenly got cold when you left.
and at first it annoys him because this is so unlike him. katsuki's always preferred solitude 9 time out of 10. but now he feels a little lonely when your gone, only a little. fomo when you go out, he doesn't even really know what that stand for, so chronically offline but he knows he feels it.
but he denies it whenever you bring it up, stating that these are normal couple things and he's not any more clingy than when he was when you started dating. but it is weird that he's gone from not being able to fall asleep cuddling (it's too hot, he'd say) to wanting and initiating it.
but he's come to terms with it, not because he's really happy about it but rather because not amount of aggressively gripping his wrist, almost as it he's choking it or giving it a stare of anger/disappointment has made the tendencies stop. he's given into it just like he did when he fell in love with you.
"why're you followin' me?" you question when katsuki yet again follows you from the couch to the fridge, that's not near far enough apart to justify this behaviour.
"why do you keep getting up?" he complains but it comes out whinier than intended.
you chuckle at that puling out the one item that you got up to get, closing the fridge door after. "you're so clingy these days." you tease staring at him that's leaned against the island crossed armed. "you really got up to watch me get a bottle of water?"
"'m not clingy.." katsuki grumbles pushing off the counter. his actions contradict him, hands ever so gently creeping around your hips as if he's trying to do it without you noticing. his thumbs press against the plush skin next to the bone.
"all boyfriends do this stuff.." his words trail off like they usually do when he tells a lie so bad he can't even bring himself to believe it. and you can only laugh because you know he'll never admit it even when he's running out excuses.
childhoodbsf!gojo but you're each other's everything
childhoodbsf!gojo that still sits with you in silence after a bad day. just like he did back in high-school.
childhoodbsf!gojo knows where to find you when you're not answering his calls. because you always answer his calls.
childhoodbsf!gojo that calls just to hear you talk, a wave of comfort seeping through him when you immediately start rabbling about anything when his end is silent.
childhoodbsf!gojo that wastes his younger years doing stupid shit with you. partying and drinking as if you two had no responsibilities. you two still whine about how much of a waste it was now. realizing how much you two took it for granted, now packed with responsibilities.
childhoodbsf!gojo that never took up sports no matter how much the coaches begged him. all so he could walk home with you at the end of the day, talking about absolutely nothing.
childhoodbsf!gojo that turned you into a delinquent, always influencing you to do the wrong thing. underage drinking, vandalism, finding yourselves running from cops all through high-school. so much so that the local cops knew you two by name but they never caught you two so..
childhoodbsf!gojo that bites his tongue trying not to smile when you two are yet again being yelled at by the principal for causing trouble.
childhoodbsf!gojo that spends all his days with you when you two are suspended. sneaking you back home before your parents get back because you're supposed to be grounded.
childhoodbsf!gojo but for the longest you two have no other friends. never interested in talking to anyone else. always together and when you aren't all you do is think about each other.
childhoodbsf!gojo that picks the same university as you for "no reason". saying he " never planned on going to uni anyway" and he's only going because you want to go so desperately. but really the thought of having to separate haunts his soul.
childhoodbsf!gojo took your virginity on your 18th birthday, after you begged him because you were scared of your first and "just wanted to get it over with."
childhoodbsf!gojo that never told you it was his first too, not wanting to admit that all that big talk was a lie. his ego was too big for that.
childhoodbsf!gojo that spend the entirety of uni hopping from girl to girl. really just following you, breaking up with his girlfriend whenever you'd break up with yours. hoping this time you'd give him a shot but he'd inevitably get another girlfriend.
childhoodbsf!gojo that listen so attentively when you complain about how stressful uni is. not being able to relate at all because he just picked a filler major to spend time with you. because he is unfortunately one of those rich kids that you always complain about for having "such easy lives"
childhoodbsf!gojo that gets you into the party scene when you start becoming "too serious" always talking like the adults you two used to make fun of when you were younger.
childhoodbsf!gojo that hates how you get other friends when you start your new job. getting new friends himself just to spite you but of course like the ever supportive friend you are. you're happy for him, he wishes you'd seethe at the thought of him hanging out with other people like he does for you.
childhoodbsf!gojo that becomes a bestfriend with benefits when your new job becomes too taxing. finding himself between your thighs working to bring you the release he knows you need after a long week.
childhoodbsf!gojo dodges all the women his family find for him like his life depends on it. calling you to be his 'pretend' girlfriend on all of his blind dates, ever proud of himself even when he's being yelled at by his elders.
childhoodbsf!gojo that bites back a smile when your families joke/rant over dinner about how you two should just marry each other at this point.
childhoodbsf!gojo whos pupils blow wide when you agree since "all you two do is spend time together anyway" it'd be convenient or whatever you said, he stopped hearing after you said yes.
childhoodbsf!gojo that's been plotting on you for years.
✦ sending a quiz to all the boys i've loved before
SYNOPSIS: sending out a quiz to all the crushes you've had in the past (yes, like that youtube trend :p) this is basically just their answers
pairings — bakugou katsuki x reader, kirishima eijiro x reader, shoto todoroki x reader, izuku midoriya x reader, sero hanta x reader, denki kaminari x reader [SEPERATE]
WARNINGS: nothing, this is fluff. reader is a little extroverted
NOTES: some of these crushes take place in high-school but all characters are adults <3 i came up with this idea after watching the debsmikle vid, heavily inspired by it. (ily deb 😛)
jjk ver.
★ — 𝕭𝖆𝖐𝖚𝖌𝖔𝖚 𝕶𝖆𝖙𝖘𝖚𝖐𝖎
nicknames: pizza plate
backstory: timeline (high-school 1st to 2nd year)
it was the first day of high-school and and they were serving pizza in the cafeteria and like the clutz you are. you accidentally dropped your plate of pizza. bakugou was standing in front of you, turned around, scoffed and said "nice one." long story short it was so wattpad that it made your heart flutter. you two were in the same english class together but quickly after classes started he transferred classes.. you two barely talked after that. first high-school crush btw.
what is your name?
bakugou tf?
did you know that i liked you..?
☐ yes 🙄
☐ no 😳
☐ kinda 🧍♂️
✅ it was obvious 💀
☐ other
*space to type here...*
if you knew that i liked you, how were you able to tell (details plz)
you aren't very secretive with your body language..
you have a gravitational force through your uniqueness. your smile and laugh are annoyingly contagious and you can heal a rough day with your presence. or whatever.
distinct memory with me?
we don't have many memories together, i'm glad i met you. i guess.
something you don't like about me/something that annoys you about me?
never got to know you better.
how awkward was this?
☐ not awkward at all 🤨
✅ i don't care🥱
☐ not my favourite
☐ don't ever make me do this again or i'll break you
any last words..?
check your messages.
★ — 𝕶𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖒𝖆 𝕰𝖎𝖏𝖎𝖗𝖔𝖚
nicknames: golden retriver
backstory: timeline (college 1st year)
you could probably write a 10 page essay on why this man is husband material. you met him on the first day while walking to a shared class. you got along really well and became friends. the more you got to know him the more your crush grew. this man is a walking green flag.
what is your name?
kirishima ejiro 💪
did you know that i liked you..?
☐ yes 🙄
☐ no 😳
✅ kinda 🧍♂️
☐ it was obvious 💀
☐ other
*space to type here...*
if you knew that i liked you, how were you able to tell (details plz)
kinda thought so.. you always had a positive vibe around me but that's how you were since day one so it only crossed my mind a couple times but never really stood out.
something you don't like about me/something that annoys you about me?
how fast you were that one time we played man hunt.
how awkward was this?
☐ not awkward at all 🤨
✅ i don't care🥱
☐ not my favourite
☐ don't ever make me do this again or i'll break you
any last words..?
stay hydrated 💧
★ — 𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖔 𝕿𝖔𝖉𝖔𝖗𝖔𝖐𝖎
nicknames: munchkin
backstory: timeline (middle school to high-school 1st year)
you two actually dated for a while, a dumb middle school relationship. but he moved away and only came back for high-school but he was "the new kid" which is like "fresh meat" and he's cute. so the girls were all over him and you chickened out so you two never really spoke after that.
what is your name?
shoto todoroki.
did you know that i liked you..?
☐ yes 🙄
✅ no 😳
☐ kinda 🧍♂️
☐ it was obvious 💀
☐ other
*space to type here...*
if you knew that i liked you, how were you able to tell (details plz)
*space to type here.*
did you ever like me?
☐ yes
☐ no
☐ kinda 🤭
☐ rather not say.. mind your business.
✅ other - when i first arrived at high-school i had a crush on you. we had not seen each other in quite a while and you were really pretty.
we were really young when we first met, i don't fully remember. i do remember dating in middle school.. my first hug.
distinct memory with me?
i recall having a empty period and i was sitting in the cafeteria. i was having a bad day and you came in with a group of people doing your "daily vlogs" i think that is what it's called? you were asking me a bunch of questions and long story short it truly flipped my mood. not many people can do that so, that says something. (not happy i didn't make it into the vid.) (that is a joke by the way)
something you don't like about me/something that annoys you about me?
we never really got as close as we were in middle school when i came back, i felt as though you never cared to get close again. that being said i never put much effort in either.
how awkward was this?
☐ not awkward at all 🤨
✅ i don't care🥱
☐ not my favourite
☐ don't ever make me do this again or i'll break you
any last words..?
congratulations on your award. 😎
★ — 𝕴𝖟𝖚𝖐𝖚 𝕸𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖞𝖆
nicknames: smiley
backstory: timeline (high-school 2nd year to 3rd year)
you weren't into him at first but towards the end of first year and 2nd year onwards... he was just so fine, and he's got a golden retriever personality so.. his name is smiley because he's always smiling.
what is your name?
izuku midoriya
did you know that i liked you..?
☐ yes 🙄
✅ no 😳
☐ kinda 🧍♂️
☐ it was obvious 💀
☐ other
*space to type here...*
if you knew that i liked you, how were you able to tell (details plz)
something you don't like about me/something that annoys you about me?
nothing honestly.
how awkward was this?
☐ not awkward at all 🤨
☐ i don't care🥱
☐ not my favourite
✅ don't ever make me do this again or i'll break you
any last words..?
still miss you sometimes. hope you come visit sometime ☺️
★ — 𝕾𝖊𝖗𝖔 𝕳𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖆
nicknames: DJ
backstory: timeline (old work crush)
he was your coworker at your first job. he was older than you and really cute so you tried to impress him. this man is a hardcore music fan, loved chase atlantic, playboi carti, and the likes. so like your young naïve self you changed your whole music taste to impress him. you even lip-synced to a carti song on your story to try and get his attention, it failed miserably he did not see it. you were talking to him one day and he told you that you reminded him of his younger sister.. long story short you got over him and moved on.
what is your name?
shhh🤫
did you know that i liked you..?
☐ yes 🙄
☐ no 😳
☐ kinda 🧍♂️
✅ it was obvious 💀
☐ other
*space to type here...*
if you knew that i liked you, how were you able to tell (details plz)
annoying me every time you saw me & people told me after you told them
something you don't like about me/something that annoys you about me?
you swear you're funny...
how awkward was this?
☐ not awkward at all 🤨
✅ i don't care🥱
☐ not my favourite
☐ don't ever make me do this again or i'll break you
any last words..?
you honestly a hoe fr 🤡
★ — 𝕯𝖊𝖓𝖐𝖎 𝕶𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖎
nicknames: bumblebee
backstory: timeline (high-school 1st year)
his nickname is bumblebee because back in high-school you two went out to watch bumblebee the movie when it came out. you guys actually arrived late so when you went to buy tickets, the next showing was an hour later. and since all the theatre amenities were only accessible if you had tickets you two were stranded. so you two decided to go to a nearby park, you two had a long conversation and the time honestly flew by. after the movie you two talked for a while but it kinda just fizzled out.
what is your name?
kaminari denki ⚡
did you know that i liked you..?
✅ yes 🙄
☐ no 😳
☐ kinda 🧍♂️
☐ it was obvious 💀
☐ other
*space to type here...*
if you knew that i liked you, how were you able to tell (details plz)
you were always skipping class with me to walk around and talk. we talked a lot in school and outside and we went out once to the movies.
it was a long time ago but i always thought you were attractive and nice to talk to
distinct memory with me?
saying hi to you every morning when we were close. skipping class to hangout and talk to you. complimenting your hairstyles and going to the park around the neighbourhood waiting for our movie because we showed up late and had to wait for the next show.
something you don't like about me/something that annoys you about me?
how you let your friends have an influence on the way you treated me.
how awkward was this?
☐ not awkward at all 🤨
☐ i don't care🥱
✅ not my favourite
☐ don't ever make me do this again or i'll break you
✦ scareactor!choso fucking you instead of doing his job
there's screams of terror echoing through the hallways outside the room you're in. the room where choso is fucking you into the wall earning screams vastly different to the ones outside.
your knees are pressed to your ears as choso fills your cunt to the brim. tip brushing your cervix in this position, the thickness stretching you to your limit. the squelching noises your pussy makes bouncing off the walls along with the moans that spill out your mouth.
you're so into it, you can't even here the bangs on the locked door as the "victims" outside try to find somewhere to hide. this all makes choso laugh, listening to the contrasting screams of terror and ecstasy around him. and choso rubs your clit trying to get you scream as loud as the people outside.
"why don't you- fuck.. let them hear you- hm" he hums thrust getting faster and faster. and you're just about to especially with how the his tip is hitting your sweet spot inside you. "oh my- hah.. i'm gonna come~!" you whine out, white spots clouding your vision.
"than come, baby. hah- scream it out." he laughs out, manically.
SERIES SYNOPSIS: brat but it's a random series of fics inspired by the songs on the original album. all of these fics might not be in the same au! this idea came to me on a whim so i'm gonna let it be that. I'll add to the series randomly with random characters on any of my accounts including this one, @sommed and @madamsommed. I'm working on another series rn as well so I decided to mesh the two, some of the drabbles in this series take place in the same au as the other series I'm currently working on. anyway shout out to the hot internet queen charli xcx. song of the day
WARNINGS: celebrity!reader, racer!suguru (a hint for the fic I'm working one) smut, established relationship, suguru and reader have history, y/n's kinda mean, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight breeding kink, suguru has a thing for biting, not proofread yet.
NOTES: i've got too many half finished fics in my drafts, it's russian roulette to see who's gonna get posted at this point. the reader is heavily inspired by charli's persona. I thought we'd start off strong and slowly venture into more boring y/n's lmao. Unless I think of another interesting au to explore.
— next part
the classical music echoing through the room is really irking you. You can't stand these company events where the all the staff comes together in a fancy restaurant to celebrate the accomplishments of the season. honestly you can't stand all of the executives running the company, their obnoxious laughter as they pat themselves on the back for all the awards your hard work got them.
normally you wouldn't be this mad but just for the fact that you had to beg them to let you come out of you usual genre and release this album. you're especially annoyed this time round. thank god for your friends that make these hours just a little more bearable. and the expensive drinks that might be the best part, getting drunk is the best idea you can think of.
"So what, are you two official or what?" your friends question, so intrigued by your new relationship with the f1 racer geto suguru. you're skeptical that they might be more interested in him than your relationship. you don't really care though, they can have him if they can get him.
ieiri swirls the wine in her glass. the look she gives you is filled with disappointment, squinting her eyes. you'd promised her you'd never look back after the nasty break up you and suguru had a few years back. it took a lot out of you back then and to see you go back to that after all you hard work, you understand why she's mad.
"i don't know, kinda?" you dismiss trying to avoid the daggers shoko's staring your way. she doesn't get it, suguru's a charmer. he knows just what to say and when to say it. he's attentive and caring and your history of each other, each others bodies.. it makes him hard to resist. she doesn't get it, and she never would. but suguru doesn't let you forget it.
"what does that even mean?" your friends question, and you just shrug. you don't really know yourself, suguru insists you two are together but you haven't really accepted it. your resisting the title but you can't deny that from the outside it does looks that way.
"who's that?" ieiri thankfully changes the subject, pointing at the unfamiliar girl that all of the executives are fawning over. everyone's attention turns, looks of confusion. but you don't wonder for long as the crowd pushes her to your group almost on cue.
"y/nn!" they call for you, smiles wider than usual. probably because you're their biggest money maker recently.
"you've heard of nobara, haven't you??" you have not, but you nod your head anyway. this pleases the executives and cues a sequence of bragging about how great she is. you honestly nodded your head because you hoped they wouldn't start mansplaining the mundane things about being an artist. something they do every time they see you.
nonetheless you nod your head attentively as their words turn into background noise until you hear a "ding" notification on your phone and then another and another. You were trying to ignore it but shoko was raising her eyebrows at you suggestively, so you pull out the pockets of your obnoxiously big fur coat.
"can you just do you song so we can go?"
she gestured subtly to the neon green stage after the long dinner table in front of it.
"this talk is sooo boring and SOMEONES breath smells like actual dog shit. im being suffocated by it"
you have to bite your tongue to not laugh in front of everyone. "nobara!" you cut through the unnecessary chatter. "i'm so happy to have you join us, you'll fit right it, promise." you place your hands on her shoulders smiling widely. "okay cool, sorted. i think we're done, yeah?" The girls around just as desperate to get out of the conversation, agree.
"i'm gonna do my song now."
with that you walk towards stage.
the late quiet streets are lit up by the laughter and screams of you and your friends. all of them stumbling aimlessly while you, having mostly sobered up, tries to get a ride. your body has never been good at keeping alcohol, it runs through you, never staying too long. A blessing and a curse.
A curse now, because you're annoyingly aware of the continuous texts pinging your phone as you look for a driver. It's almost as if the two contacts are competing to send more messages. You do your best to block it out though, successfully getting a ride.
you cross your arms, feeling the late-night cold now. especially with the circulating alcohol leaving your system. you just pray the ride will come soon because you're sure all of it's going to your bladder. the girls around you speak loudly and scream some words enthusiastically in their drunken haze. you watch them, not really listening just watching. so ready to go home and-
honk
your head follows the sound turning swiftly. you're confused at first looking through the few cars around the street. you're eyes catch sight of the only still car with it's headlights on. the car is almost invisible in the dark night. matte black body, rims, the whole thing is basically a shadow. if not for how tall it was and the glaring headlights, you probably wouldn't have noticed it. you already know who it is but it's ever more confirmed when the window driver's side window rolls down.
sleek black hair shows first and then his head. sparkly white grin already plastered on his face. you hate how your stomach flips, glaring at the only person who could've set this up. shoko looks away like a guilty kid. eyes wandering everywhere but you face her cheeks bright red from all the alcohol flowing in her system. in the back of you mind you knew this would happen. shoko swore she was on your side, promising, swearing that she would not cave to suguru's ever so sweet words. yet somehow the man who's messages you're beyond sure you've been ignoring is outside the club you and your friends are at.
you pinch the bridge of your nose, shoko is the most untrustworthy person when she's drunk. and it doesn't help that she's a mutual friend. you look back to the man in the car but the window is rolled up. door closed, headlights off.
suguru is now on your side of the street, walking slow almost strolling. but because he's tall, he's approaching rather fast. he stops a few feet away, not far, more close than far but not close either. close in the way that he wants to be closer, desperate to hold you. but far in a way that he's holding himself back with all the self control he's got in his body leaving leeway for rejection. suguru would, in a heartbeat turn around if you were to tell him to.
because that's what you agreed on. you were always in control of the relationship. When it was over, when it would on. you said it years ago, you're sure that you two have moved way passed that. but suguru still takes it seriously to this day, so willing to go with the flow.
you two stare at each other for a little two long, you're thinking of what to do and suguru's thinking of what you're thinking. eyes running over your face almost as if he's telepathic, hearing everything going through you brain.
the silence is broken by the chatter of the girl behind you. they nudge your arm repetitively, encouraging you to just go. they whine and giggle mischievously like group of high-school girls. shoko stays quiet but you can tell she's happy with her decision, a small smile. and you hate how much your anger has faded in the time he's been in front of you.
you hate how you're really considering going him. suguru blinks slowly like a cat in love and you can tell he's doing his best not to look too happy. and maybe you're still a little tipsy, maybe you're not in your right mind or maybe it's the sound of the the uber you called slowly approaching your group. but you cave, finding yourself slipping into the passenger seat of suguru's car.
and you're beyond annoyed at the fact that suguru didn't even have to say anything to get you here. it feels a little too much like old times, and you hate feeling easy. you don't know what it is about suguru that makes you fold. crumbling under the pressure he doesn't even lay on you but you feel it somehow.
you glare out the window while he talks, answering all his questions with short answers. trying to sound disinterested but you still find yourself rambling about everything that annoyed you during the day. and you don't fight the hand that finds its place on your thigh.
the elevator doors open straight into suguru's sky rise penthouse. you take off your shoes, finding you way to the bathroom too easily. which is even more annoying because suguru got the house fairly recently. so why is it that you know your way around the house so easily?
the place feels like home, you know where everything is, never surprised when you walk in. because you've been here before, too many times for a "fling". as you'd call it suguru hates that term, claiming you're way past that and he's annoyingly right.
you're not even sure why you're in the bathroom, you don't need to pee. you're just staring at yourself in the mirror, avoiding the sight of what you're gonna see when you come out. the sight of suguru in home clothes, a sight that's too cozy for the distance you've been trying to create between the two of you. you know you'll cave for sure then.
but you have no choice, you can't camp in the bathroom the a pussy? those days are long gone, you're not that needy girlfriend that waits around for suguru like before. suguru waits around for you now. you fix your hair in the mirror, mostly for comfort and way of grounding yourself. staring at the mirror in front of you for a second before opening the door.
suguru calls out almost instantly. "d'you wanna order take out or are you not hungry?" you don't answer, taking slow steps towards the living area where you undoubtedly find the sight you've been dreading. suguru's in a black t-shirt and sweats so boring and you love it. you stare in analyzing way rather than one of adoration. like the one suguru gives you. you two do this often, exchanging looks rather than conversing because you already know what the other's thinking. especially with the way suguru's eye trail your body slow, as if he's taking the sight for the first time.
they dart up again, looking you in the eye again. blinking slow like he always does before finally deciding to close the distance. and you stand tall like you need to despite how much you want to crumble. you don't even notice how you're holding your breath. how your stomach turns when he touches you, like your a high-school girl and this is your first love. maybe because it feels like that and this is your first love.
so caught in you own nerves, you don't even notice how suguru is just as nervous. well maybe not just as suguru doesn't get nervous but he hesitates, nervously. pulling your jacket off of you slowly, and you let him. jacket finding its place on the floor like your clothes usually do whenever you're here.
"you look pretty.." he cuts through the silence, words low like you need to be quiet. his eyes are staring at your lips just waiting for you give him the go ahead. and you almost don't want to give him that. "pretty?" you quirk an eyebrow at him, suguru smiles already knowing what you want to hear.
"you look sexy too." you hum in approval, finally giving in. maybe your impatient but you both knew where this was going the second you entered his car. wrapping your arms around his neck, you lay a hard kiss to his lips. and suguru responds instantly giving the same energy back. both your kisses are hungry almost as if you've been apart for years but right now it does feel like its been years. the time you two spend away from each other makes it all so much more worth it.
you whine at the way suguru's hand find place on your bare waist, slipping under your shirt so easily it's like they've always been there. yours slipping into his hair like they always do, the feeling is comforting how familiar it is. the other hand slipping under his black t-shirt, just craving the feeling of skin.
"all i had to say was you looked sexy?" suguru teases, kisses trailing down your jaw, to your neck. finding that sweet spot with ease. you but back a moan that come out as a whimper. you tug his hair and suguru groans cursing under his breath. he finally presses your bodies together and you instantly feel his hard on. pressed right again your tummy and you can't help the whine that escapes you. pressing you thighs together in anticipation.
"shut up-" you bite back but your words are breathless. "we're only here because you're so desperate." suguru smiles against your skin, pulling back to look at you face. his pupils are blown out with lust, so much so that you can tell he's been holding himself back. he hums "you're right, baby." you're slightly taken aback by the confession suguru's not the type to let his feelings be known. especially not his desperation.
"'ve been goin' crazy without you. i can't wait any longer." he admit laying open mouthed kisses against your skin. nipping and biting your bottom lip. his hands slowly trail up under you shirt, thumbs brushing the underside of your tits. you let him in, opening your mouth for him to slip his tongue in.
suguru's hands move to cupping your tits, squeezing gently at first like he's testing the waters. it's unnecessary because you instantly lean into his touch. moaning into his mouth, your hands start bunching his shirt, trying you best to pull it off him. suguru laughs at that pulling only for a moment to pull his shirt off. his muscles flexing as he discards of it somewhere on the floor.
you watch him, moving backwards until the back of your legs feel the arm of his leather couch. the leather is cold and you hate it, you don't know how many times you've complained to suguru about it. but suguru always retorts "fabric couches are hard to clean" as if he couldn't afford to pay someone to do that.
you hiss at the feeling, flinching right into suguru's hold. he laughs at your discomfort working at taking of you shirt too. you lift your arms to give him and easier time and suguru drops your shirt down to join his in the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor. suguru gawks at your tits like he's never seen them before, expression mirroring that of virgin teenager.
"you look so stupid." you claim but you sit back on the arm of the couch, pushing your chest out. like your trying to entice him into touching you. suguru smiles that toothy grin that he always does, moving in between your legs. "but yer' waiting for me?" he teases both hands wrapping around your boobs. and you want to retort but the stimulation on your chest was so good.
"well you.. ah fuck-" his fingers twisted and fiddled your nipples deliciously. you moan, wrapping your fingers in suguru's hair again. he groans moving down to lay kisses against your collarbones. "well i what, baby?" his kisses becoming nips that delve deeper and deeper down your chest. sucking in a way that's definitely gonna leave marks, and suguru sure has a knack for leaving them in the most inconvenient places.
but you're too into it to care at this point, arching further into his touch. his words fall on deaf ears as his kisses fall in between the valley of your tits. his hands wrap around your back to unpin your bra with practiced ease. your nipples get impossibly harder from the temperature and the way that suguru's pupils blow wider at the sight. he murmurs praises under his breath as he takes in the view, and you're starting to think you might have kept him waiting a little too long.
"you look so sexy, love" he whispers, breathlessly. laying soft kisses around your nipples, teasing. you whine, tugging on his hair again, arching into his face. you don't know how much longer you can wait, so desperate to feel any stimulation. you're almost at the point of begging but you're not yet ready to give him that satisfaction. but you can tell that's what he wants, holding out until you're desperate.
just as desperate as he is, cock impossible hard in his pant. spewing unbelievable amounts of precum into the fabric. he has been waiting too long, way too long to have you. and he just want to that you feel the same, edging it out of you. touching you everywhere but where you need it most. but like you usually do you're holding out to make him work for it. deep down he knows edging isn't going to get it out of you but he knows the longer he holds out the more your hips grind up against nothing. more and more needy for any type of stimulation against your mound.
and when he finally lays a harsh suck to your nipple you're practically purring hand wrapped in his messy bun the other scratching marks down his back. suguru groans, vibrations so good against your tit after waiting so long, too long. his hand fondles the other while he sucks on your nipple, laying open mouthed kisses all over his chest. "suguru, just- hah.. just give it to me." you whine, hips moving against the couch arm below you trying your best to stimulate your clit. his kisses and sucks aren't enough for you anymore, not when they're everywhere but where you need him most.
suguru smiles against your chest pulling off you tit with a *pop*. you're practically drooling with need, and suguru can't help but think you look so pretty like this. all of your skin ridden with spit and bite marks, all from him. "yer so impatient, can never just amuse me a little hm." you scowl at him, receiving a feign frown in return. he wraps his arms around you, picking you up by your thighs. "can i at least take you to bed, m'lady." he's grinning again, laying a kiss to you lips that is oddly romantic.
"shut up" you roll your eyes but you're nodding anyway, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist when he picks you up. suguru is practically running up the stairs, b-lining to the bedroom.
your nails dig into the sheets as suguru preys over you, crawling towards you slowly. he towers over you, leaning down to lay open mouthed kisses down your tummy. his fingers tug the waistband of your skirt, staring up at you for the go ahead. and you give it to him lifting up your hips to give him an easier time. and suguru takes the opportunity to pull your skirt down, tossing it somewhere.
suguru pulls your legs over his shoulders kissing down them. his eyes ogling at the wet patch on your panties, the kind that he likes too. lacy and black, he swears you were made just for him. his kisses become messier the further they delve, needier. his growing impatient with his own tactics. his kisses reach your heats and he's practically drooling, fingers tracing the waistband in desperation.
you curl you fingers through his hair again as he stares up at you. you know what he wants to hear but you're really enjoying the view. his eye glazed of with lust, so pussydrunk and he hasn't even tasted you yet. he's drunk off just the thought of it. "please.. baby." he groans laying a long stripe against your clothed hole, kissing your clit through the soaked material.
you want to hold out longer just to hear him beg more but you're just as needy as him. so you nod and suguru growls just about ripping the lace off you. the article falls somewhere on the floor, leaving you bare for the man you didn't want to see tonight. "fuck.. you're- you're so perfect." he moans delving between you thighs like it's all he could've hoped for. and you swear he moans louder than you when he finally gets a taste.
suguru laps at your cunt like it's his last meal, licking and sucking your clit. "sugu- hah oh my.." you moan out, tugging at his hair. your thigh instinctively close around his head, making him groan. suguru presses your knees up to your ears, folding you in half as he ravishes your hole. moans and whines escape your mouth uncontrollably, trying your best to grind up against his mouth but his grip is firm.
"yer' so fuckin' wet, baby." suguru moans into your cunt, his fingers teasing your hole. your eyes roll back, you're seeing stars at this point and your embarrassed to admit how fast that coil in your tummy is forming. "mm- suguru.. i can't." you whine when suguru pulls away. looking down to his glare.
"look at me, wanna see yer' pretty faces.." he look more like he's begging than demanding, brows furrowed like he needs it. and at this point you're more than willing to do anything he wants if it'll get his mouth back where you want it. you nod furiously but suguru's not quite satisfied. "say it, love" you whine trying your best to push his head between your legs. your high was so close you could almost taste it and its fading quicker.
"'m gonna look at you, sugur- hah-!" with that he delves between your thighs, giving you what you want. you moan out tugging his hair as suguru pushes a finger into your sopping hole. the finger feels so delicious pushing against your walls. you hips grind up uselessly, not moving much in suguru's grip. his lapping on your clit and the pumping of his fingers get you there faster than you'd like to admit. trying your best not to let your eyes roll back, suguru's half-lidded eyes unmoving, watching every expression on your face.
watching how your face contorts when he slips another finger into your cunt. "mm- s' good!" you're practically yelping at this point, his thick fingers stretch your cunt so deliciously. your ever dripping hole twitches around them as your orgasm approaches. suguru gives you adoring eyes as you yelp and whine, so enamored with seeing you in pleasure. his fingers curl against your sweet spot inside you, tongue lapping against your clit.
the coil in your tummy is getting tighter and tighter by the second. and suguru can tell sucking harder on your clit, fingers pumping faster. your pussy's making nastiest squelching noises, your eyesight going white. "yes yes- hah.. i'm gonna- oh.." your fingers scissor into suguru's hair pushing his head further into your cunt.
"come, come baby" suguru moans into your cunt, and you listen letting go of the coil in you tummy. falling over the edge, your vision goes white. suguru rides you through it laying kitten licks to your clit, fingers pumping slowly. you're moans are screams as your high washes over you. suguru lets you grind against face through your orgasm, groaning as it washes over you.
you're breathless as you come down from your high, whimpering and whining. it's all too much suddenly, and you go from pushing suguru's head into your cunt to pushing it away. suguru whines at the loss nevertheless being pushed away. his chin are soaked with your slick, shimmering under the low moonlight that cascades into the room. his pupils are still blown wide under the black hair sticking to his face. his bun is messier now from all the pulling and yanking you were doing.
suguru gets up again, towering over you. licking his lips to savor your taste, and you look down to notice the wet patch on his grey sweat. probably from all the humping he was doing while eating you out. you whine, annoyed that his pants are still on in the first place. and you want to see his cock more than anything right now. suguru notices your annoyance and lets your hands trail down to pull at the waistband of both his sweats and his underwear.
you pull it down, watching as his thick cock spring out. his tip is a raging red, leaking incredible amounts of precum. his cock hangs under its weight even at its raging hardness. you reach out but miss as suguru moves back to discard of his pants. "suguru~" you groan reaching out for him. he only laughs wrapping his hands in yours and pinning them above you to lay kisses to your lips. his tip catches on your clit earning a moan out of both you.
suguru's cock is pulsating with need dripping pre all over your pussy and tummy. he ogles at the sight of it laying on your tummy, tip reaching your belly button. you press kiss on the corner of his lips down to his chin, trying to get him give it you. and only because suguru is so horny, he doesn't tease for much longer unpinning you arms so he can line himself up.
his tip catch on your clit again, making both of you hiss. but you're sure he did it on purpose this time. suguru rubs his sticky tip against your slit a few times before pushing in. you both moan in unison as his tip slips inside you. your head falls back, nails digging into his biceps. "hah- shit ya feel s' good." suguru slurs groaning into your neck. you can feel him twitching inside you.
he stops moving making you whimper, pushing your hips up trying to get him further inside. suguru hold you hips down, stopping you. "fuck just- give me a second baby.." he practically growls into your ear, cock twitching uncontrollably inside spewing more and more pre inside you. you can tell he wants to come but he's holding himself back, trying to hold back so he can get another orgasm out of you.
suguru takes a minute to calm down, distracting you by laying kisses on all the sweet spots around your neck. pressing soft circles on your clit that do a fairly good job at distracting you. and when he finally sheaths himself fully, it feels oh so good. your both moaning into each others mouths, suguru trying so hard to kiss you but the moans escaping both of you, hinder him.
his thrusts are slow at first just trying to get you used to the mean stretch his cock is giving you. and god is his cock splitting you open, the thickness, the length. the sounds your pussy is making are so nasty and it only turns you on more. earning noises you swear you've never made before.
suguru's pace quickens, he folds you into a mating press. his cock is hitting your g-spot with the new position and swear your vision is blurring. "mm-mh.." suguru cups your face. "ya gotta shit- look at me.. remember?" he kisses your jaw, but his pace never falters and his circles on your clit are only getting faster.
you nod your head, trying your best to focus but suguru's practiced thrust are building that coil in your tummy all over again. his mouth moves down to kiss and suck your nipples, earning all those pretty noises he's been craving for way too long. his eyes are still on your face, making sure your eyes are on him just like you promised.
and just as you feel that coil in you tummy getting tighter you feel that familiar twitch inside you. suguru's pace gets sloppier, circles less structured and his kisses are all over the place. you can tell he's close, your nails are scratching up and down his flexing back. "ah- give it to me, sugu" you whine. "want it- ohh fuck.. want you to come inside me." suguru growls biting down on your collarbone, sucking and nipping.
the two of you are a moaning mess, covered in sweat, a ring of cum forming around the base of his cock. it's all so messy, so desperate and you find yourself wondering how you even got to where you are currently. but the thought fades quickly as suguru flicks your clit incredibly fast. and you're yelping again trying to move away from the pressure but the more you wiggle your hips the further you move into suguru's movements.
and it's all too much, you're so overstimulated and that combined with the noises your pussy's making plus how sexy suguru looks on top of you. you find yourself reaching your high faster than anticipated. "hah! sugur- please c- oh my god.. come~!" you beg and you get exactly what you want, suguru coming after you.
both of you yelling as he rides you through your highs. you both lay limp breath slowing as you take in the after glow. "yer perfect" suguru praises laying kisses to your tummy.
"i know" and suguru smiles that toothy grin he always does.
summerboyfriend!suguru might be your favourite season boyfriend yet
he's fully commited to his role. like beachy ken doll, he stays in swim trunks and just sometimes an unbuttoned dress shirt if it gets a little chilly.
constantly adding to your shared "summer vibes" pinterest board that you sent to him jokingly showing the criteria he was expected to meet. suguru did not take it as a joke though.
frequently planning dates that are oddly similar to a couple pins on that shared board. all that for 50 ig pics and sex on picnic blanket. the best thing about having seasonal boyfriends is the different themed sex you have pertaining to the season.
suguru performs his role well especially aesthetically. he's built with broad shoulders and washboard abs that are better for looking than they are for laying on (from experience) and his cock is summery too with veins similar to a plump grape and tip that pale pink like a peach but bright like watermelon when you wear on of the many bikini's he's bought you.
he's adopted the personality of an islander since you two started dating, never too far from salty water unless you two are partaking in another summer themed activity like picking strawberries or afternoon picnics. he says he "just likes the beach" but you swear he just wants and excuse to not wear a shirt.
suguru knows he's on a seasonal planner and is making the most of his time before the next guy takes his place.
"next guy's.. fuc- not gonna fuck you like this-" he hisses into you ear, folding you into the plush sheets of the bed. summer sun cascading an orange glow into the room you and suguru fill with nasty sounds.
your pussy making squelching noises as his cock pumps into you. pulling out fully before sheathing himself in again, bright tip brushing your g-spot over and over. all you can do is moan, nails scratching down suguru's chest.
and he's right, he fucks you soo good that you're considering keeping him around for fall.
looks like fallboyfriend!gojo's gonna have to wait
summerboyfriend!katsuki that takes all your ig pics
katsuki isn't a permanent boyfriend. you're just keeping around for the "hot beach couple" pics on your insta.
and his surprisingly good photography skills
you specifically chose him because he's perfectly built in all the right ways. he looks better the less clothes he has on. the perfect criteria for a summer boyfriend that wasn't the case with your spring boyfriend and that's why he's gone now.
katsuki knows this and is most definitely making the most of it while it lasts. you don't think you've seen him with a shirt on since your relationship started. the most clothes he's worn is an open buttoned shirt with beachy patterns.
other than that he stays in swim trunks that hang scarily low on his v-line. and a variation of chains or a specific shark tooth necklace that you said looks "sexy"
some would say he's overcompensating for his role even taking up surfing lessons when you mentioned one of your friends boyfriends does it.
memorizing your favourite bar drinks and constantly buying you beachy dresses. that are always accompanied buy the skimpiest bikinis one can find.
your closet is becoming a too "summer-ish" for your liking but that's a problem for fall.
you honestly think he's having too much fun seeing you in bikinis. encouraging a beach trip at least once a day. "summer isn't gonna last forever." he'd say.
but you let him get away with it because he's a natural at taking pictures. so much so that you might consider keeping him around next season.
WARNINGS: college au!, oblivious reader, smut, semi-public sex, semi-established relationship, dry(well wet actually) humping, hot tub sex, unprotected sex, covey nickname (its too cute)
NOTES: not proofread, this is heavily inspired by this scene in 'TO ALL THE BOYS I'VE LOVED BEFORE'. I've brainstormed this on for way too long. Now I lowkey wanna do a mha TATBILB lol. (still brainstorming brothersbsf! bakugou pt.2) song
Katsuki's hand swishes around in the water, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. He sighs to himself and looks at the stars. Desperately trying to distract himself from the annoyance he doesn't want to feel towards you. The silence was supposed to help him clear his thoughts but it doesn't in fact it only makes him think of you more. And the warm water around just gets him more heated.
Katsuki's beyond upset with himself for falling for someone so dense. He sighs again in frustration, bringing his head down and throws his arms over the back of the hot tub. So distracted in his thoughts he doesn't even hear you foot steps approaching. Even through the loud 'flip flap' of your bedroom slippers.
"All alone out here?"
Your voice cuts through the silence, gaining Katsuki's attention. His head flicks to you and his mind fills with adoration. It annoys him even more, that just the sight of you washes away all his negative feelings. Is this what it's like to love someone? Geez it sucks, because Katsuki really wants to be mad at you. He has many reasons to be mad at you so, he keeps the act up.
Katsuki laughs and turns away, looking at the water. Doing his best to furrow his eyebrows and look mad. Even through the way his heart aches at the sound of you stepping closer.
"Are you ignoring me now?" You're hurt, so desperate to hear his voice and you don't even understand why he's mad. You did everything he wanted up until this point? He's honestly being unfair, you think but then again that's probably how he feels with you.
He scoffs at that. "Oh, I'm the one ignoring you now?" His tone is sarcastic and comes out meaner than intended. He almost back tracks but decides not to. You want to spit back a retort too but you hold back.
Walking around the hot tub to the steps. Katsuki's eyes trail you, heart skipping a beat. You hesitate, but walk up the steps and sit down on the edge. "Sorry I'm not a good skier, you didn't even offer to teach me."
"Oh so I'm just supposed to be sweet to you after you just don't sit with me on the bus?"
"Shouldn't you be thanking me? I let you sit next to the person you actually wanted to sit next to."
Katsuki scoffs again, unbelieving of what he was hearing. "Y'know for someone with such good grades, you really are so oblivious."
"What?"
"I wanted to sit to n/n, I even went down to that convenience store and bought those stupid yoghurt drinks that you love so much." He sighs throwing his head back in annoyance.
"The Korean convenience is all the way across town."
"So if I went all the way across town to buy the snacks that you love so much, that means.."
"That you really love yoghurt?"
Katsuki's eyes blow wide, and he takes a deep breath. "Y'er impossible."
You feel so stupid, you genuinely thought that you did the right thing. As much you didn't want to, you gave up the seat next to Katsuki because you thought it was the right thing to do. You thought he'd be happy to sit next to her. Though clearly your still as oblivious as you've always been. Giving up opportunities because you thought someone was better.
You slowly kick off your bedroom slippers, pulling off you jacket achingly slow. Too slow, Katsuki thinks. His eyes watching you with a adoration that's unrivaled. He thinks you look so pretty, so beautiful even in your "ugly grandma nightie" as he calls it.
You slip one foot in to the warm tub water then the other still as slow as ever. Sitting on the edge of the tub with your feet in the water. "I'm sorry I didn't sit with you on the bus."
Katsuki just shrugs. "'s fine." He whispers, barely audible. His eye still sparkling when he looks at you. Honestly you are incredibly dense, so dense to see the way he looks at you and still think he really wants to sit next to someone else. Katsuki opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, break the tension in your ever long eye-contact. But he closes it again and looks around for a second and then back trying to stop the flush that encompasses his face.
You step deeper into the hot tub, submerging yourself up to the waist, your dress. Katsuki's taken aback. "You're coming in, in your night gown?" You're just as shocked with yourself, you weren't really thinking you just wanted to be next to him, why? You weren't sure of yet but you're already in the water.
"I don't have a bathing suit." You plainly state approaching him, trudging through the water rather ungracefully but Katsuki's still seeing stars. His breathes go shorter the closer that you get. He almost instinctively opens his arms to you but he doesn't not wanting to look as desperate as he really is. You stop right in front of him, mind running at two times speed trying to think of something not stupid to say.
"Hi." You cringe at yourself instantly, your face is flushing in though you're trying to hide it. But Katsuki isn't cringing at all in fact he finds it hot actually. He's grinning ear to ear and pulls you into his lap. "There's no one like you, covey." His lips brush you, well his bottom lip because he couldn't stop smiling.
He's so cheesy, you think but it's cute. You hesitantly lay a kiss to his lips and Katsuki respond instantly. You lay your hands on shoulders not knowing what else to do with them. So nervous but he's so reassuring so enthusiastic. Katsuki has wanted this for so long, too long and he's having a hard time hiding it.
He's not aggressive just excited. His hands are squeezing, you're hips. Pressing hard kisses to your lips like he was trying to merge with you. He's moving faster than you can process on top of the fact that you're barely sure of what you're doing. But Katsuki's reassuring, guiding, just wants you to feel comfortable.
His hand trail up, thumbs tracing the outline of you tits through your gown. You moan, too desperate already. Katsuki takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You gasp and you swear you can feel his smirk against your lips.
His tongue explores your mouth, pulling out just to tug and bite on your bottom lip. Your too excited for this amount of time. Katsuki's barely touched you but you can feel yourself getting wet. Even if the warm water of the hot tub. Katsuki wants to take it slow though, savor the moment that he's been waiting for too long.
You can't wait any long begging for any friction where you so desperately needed it. You grind down on Katsuki clothed cock, through his swim trunks. He's hard, just as excited but you wouldn't have known because he was holding himself back. He groans, kisses trailing down to your jaw, neck. "You're so pretty, baby-"
You let out a giggle, not fully believing him atleast not in this gown. Your hair pulled back, carelessly. Katsuki doesn't care though, he swears you look prettier this way. All cozy and ready for bed or atleast you would be before you came down here.
He nips at a sensitive part of your neck. "What's funny?" He hums glaring at you. He looks so handsome like this, hair damp from the wet hands he ran through it and the steam ever-flowing out the warm water. Chest wet, dripping and his oh so broad shoulders. You still look up at him slightly even from your position on his lap. He's a big guy taking up the entire side of hot tub he sits at.
And you want to respond but only moans escape your lips as he grinds back up into you. You hands fall to his wide biceps, nails digging into them. "'m talking, ahh— to you, baby" He pouts at you teasingly. Grinning wide when you try to respond but fail miserably. Who can blame you when his cock is grinding so deliciously against your clit.
"Yer— ahh~ hah- 's so good" You whine, eyes fluttering shut, head falling. Katsuki brings one hand down to you thigh, inching up as his thumb teases closer to your heat. His other moves from tracing to groping your breast. "Look at me, covey. Look at who's making ya' feel so good."
You lift your head to Katsuki's blown pupils, practically glowing at you like you make the sun rise in the morning. But also with a lust thats so desperate to be released. And you can tell with the way his thrusts get more and more desperate. His hand reaching under you wet dress in the water to rub your bare nub. And you swear his pupils blow impossibly wider.
"No panties, are ya tryna tease me?" He moans his words out thumb teasing around where you need him most and it gets you impossibly wetter. You whine, biting your bottom lip to hold back the louder noises you want to make. Suddenly so aware of the very public space you and Katsuki are doing this in. Though you almost don't care.
"I was going to bed, I didn't think we'd be doing this." You retort, grabbing his forearms to try and coax him out of teasing you. So desperate to feel that friction against you clit, humping desperately against his pelvis. Katsuki smirks going in to press a rough kiss to your lips, pulling back to bite your already puffy bottom lip.
You whine in pain, pouting at him. You dig your nails harder into his biceps as revenge but he's annoyingly unfazed by it. "Ya couldn't just lie hm? Amuse me a little, baby." Katsuki's enjoying this too much, seeing so desperate for him. So needy for a release only he can give you.
And he gives it to you just a little laying slow agonous circles on your clit. You moan out a little too loud for the space you're in right now. But the friction you've been craving is just too good and the knot in your tummy is only growing. "Shit Kats- 's so good ah-" The praise only makes Katsuki hornier, moving to twist you nipple laying more kisses to your collarbone to bite back his moans.
You noises are getting louder, back arching you closer. It's risky, he really should shush you, kiss away the noises spilling from your lips. But Katsuki's been waiting too long to hear them, uncaring of who they might wake up. Who might see through the huge glass windows surrounding you two. So focused on getting you over the edge, so desperate to see the cute face you'll make when you get there.
And you're definitely getting there, his hands are all over you and it's getting to you more than you want to admit, even to yourself. Those slow circles against your clit too effective in driving you closer. But you don't even need to say it, Katsuki can tell. "Ya gonna cum f'me, baby? Hm?" You nod vigorously, leaning in to kiss him but the moans escaping you won't stop. So Katsuki settles for laying a gentle kiss to your cheek. It's so romantic and sweet a large contrast to the erotic grinding you two are doing under the water.
"Cum, love. Cum for me." He coaxes, his circles on your clit getting just a little faster and the twists on his nipples getting just a little harsher. Stopping only for a moment to push you back, so he can lick and suck on your hard nipples through your gown. You're body responds accordingly the knot in you tummy bursts almost on command. You're yelling, through your orgasm. Whole body shaking, nails digging impossibly deeper into his arms in a way that'll surely leave marks. But Katsuki doesn't care, so satisfied with the faces you're making through your high. Unbeknownst to you because you're seeing white, ears ringing through it all.
Katsuki is too not even having cum yet. He swears he's just as pleased though getting you to this point. He guides you through your high, damn near overstimulating you. You're face is unbelievably flushed, but not in embarrassment from the way Katsuki's looking at you with so much love in his eyes. He presses a hard kiss against your lips, hand bunching up you dress and bringing it over your head. Tossing it somewhere outside the tub. "Katsuki!" You whine, half because now you're going to have get out the tub naked to fetch your dress. But mostly because now you're naked in this open space, you bring you arms up to you chest and look around paranoidly. And Katsuki hates how your attention shifts away from him, more than the fact that your covering your chest.
Katsuki holds your chin and diverts your attention back to him. "Ya can do it to me too baby." His eyes moving down to his swim trunks, sucking in his bottom lip almost in anticipation. You stare at them for a moment before slipping your hand under the waistband. Your fingers brush against his cock and he lets out a low breathy moan. You pull his trunks down slow and teasingly, looking at him in the eye when you do it and that turns Katsuki on unbelievably more.
You pull them off, leaving them to float in water. So focused on the way Katsuki's cock springs to life in the water. And you don't stop yourself from the urge to touch him. Wrapping your hand around him and moving it up and down, slowly. Trying to gauge his reaction. And Katsuki's letting it be known that he likes it, shamelessly moaning against your lips. His hand trail to your heat, fingers teasing around your slit. You're already whining, grinding against his hand, trying fruitlessly to get some friction.
"Katsuki.." You whine, running your other hand down his built chest. Katsuki gives in and slips one of his thick fingers into your cunt. You moan, grinding into it, already feeling that knot build in your tummy again. Katsuki's a mess, unable to hold back his noises. Biting his lip in an attempt but the friction of you hand moving furiously against his cock is making it hard.
And you want it, so bad. So desperate to feel him cum in your hand, moving you hand faster and faster. Katsuki groans again, throwing his head back and shoving another finger into your hungry cunt. Your hand is faltering, the pleasure of being filled getting to your head. Your hearing is blurring and your mind is going numb. Overtaken by the ever-growing need for pleasure that has you humping Katsuki's hand like you're starved.
"Mm, baby- ..yer so fu-" Katsuki pulls out his fingers, lining his cock up with your dripping hole. He teases for a little running the tip up and your cunt, reveling in your desperation. You whine at the loss but you're very quickly cut short by the stretch of his tip inside you. Dragging your nails down his chest you moan out already grinding against it, so needy for more. Katsuki hesitates to push himself in, letting you get used to the stretch.
"Pleasee~.." You beg, more than ready for all of it. You press wet kisses to his lip trying to coax him into letting you have it. And he does, achingly slow but he gives it to you. Sheathing himself into your heat so slow, watching your face for every reaction. You're a moaning mess, moving your hips around in circles trying to get it in faster. You can feel every vein running up his shaft against your gummy walls. Katsuki loves every second of it, he can't even focus on the pleasure he's feeling, so focused on getting you to that point again. So needy to see the faces again just one a couple more times he thinks. His thrusts start slow, exploratory.
"'S goo- shit.. 's good baby." Katsuki slurs, his mind is fogging, filled with lust. And he whimpers, feeling your walls twitch at the praise. You can't help the way it turns you on to watch him lose his mind with pleasure. His hands are digging into your hips just about bruising, trying to ground himself and stop your grinding that was definitely gonna get him there faster than he wanted. You want to lay more kisses to his lips but you are both moaning uncontrollably. Hot breath spilling between each other's lips.
You're so embarrassed at how fast you're ready to cum again. Unable to hold back the need especially so when Katsuki starts again on your nub. The circles fast this time followed up by his faster thrusts. The scene is so erotic and so wet even without the water considered. Both of you were covered in sweat, drool spilling from your kiss-bitten lips. It's feels so good, too good and you just want cum. And you can tell Katsuki does too from the way he's twitching inside you.
This time you're coaxing him, begging him to let go, desperate. "Cum, 'ki.. Please cum, cum inside me." Katsuki whines, pressing harder against your clit. You whimper grinding back into the friction at least as much as you can in his harsh grip on your hip. "You cum, baby. Want.. fuck— need you to cum f'me. Need to feel it." And you want to protest but it all feels so good. You've been holding back too long from the release you so desperately crave.
Your whole body convulsing when you reach your high. Moans and praises spilling from your lips sequentially. "Yes- s'good 'ki. Feels s' good— mm." Katsuki follows suit, moaning your name like a mantra. His high hits him so wide that he just about passes out, blanking for a minute too long that you thought he really had. He's so loud and it makes your face flush with unrivaled pride. He fills you up so much you feel like you'll burst cum spilling out and mixing with the water around you. It goes on for so long cock still leaking more a minute later. And you two stay like that for a good while in comfortable silence, reveling in your highs.
You also don't really want to get suddenly aware of just how cold it is outside the tub.
fwb!bakugou goes out of his way to do things for you. Always so attentive to the complaints you make. You've got back pain, he brings pain tablets & back patches. You've been craving a certain food, he's just happened to buy it. You've been wanting to see a certain artist, now way! Him too... It's gotten to a point to when your more of a couple than friends, constantly going out of his way to see you. Learning your routine and habits so he can fit himself in there. It started as a one time thing but people are starting to catch on now especially with all the stuff you too leave at each others place. Katsuki doesn't want to be friends anymore and doesn't seem that it'll stay that way anyway.
