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straw into gold - moodboard

"you're holding onto me awfully tight, darling."

Teaser coming - 4th August

Fic coming - 18th August

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you place one foot in front of the other on the curb before you, the toe of one shoe meeting the heel of the next. you move slowly, repeating the motions as you step a little further along the raised edge of concrete.

the air outside is cool, the breeze lifting the gauzy hem of your dress as it brushes past, and you can still hear the music from the party inside--close enough to the building not to feel as though you're entirely apart from it, but distant enough to catch your breath a little bit.

"you're gonna twist your ankle."

you look up and see issei slouched against the brick wall of the building, half-hiding in the night's shadow. his voice is gentle enough not to startle you, but you still pause when you notice him. you watch as he flicks a bit of ash off the end of his mostly-burned cigarette, and then takes another drag with his eyes still on you.

"am not," you counter indignantly, taking another careful step to spite him.

issei pushes himself off the wall, letting his cigarette drop to the ground and be crushed underfoot, and approaches where you're walking along the curb like a balance beam.

in spite of your confidence, when he's within arms reach you find yourself stumbling slightly; you teeter in your heels on the narrow strip of cement, and your hands fly out to balance yourself. mattsukawa catches your hands in his--warmer, larger than your own--and steadies you without missing a beat.

"told you," he says smugly, and your face scrunches up in annoyance.

he doesn't let go of your hands.

issei walks along with you, hands clasped in his, as you continue your tight-rope walk.

"so," he says as you step along, a little more surely now that he's there to guide you. to catch you on the off chance you should fall. "why aren't you inside?"

you hum contemplatively, fingers tightening around his for a moment when your heels wobble over a crack in the curb. "just needed a breather."

issei nods, like he understands. "lotta bodies in there, huh?"

"who would have thought oikawa and iwa even know so many people?" you echo his remark.

"who knew so many people like them enough to come all the way to miyagi just to see them get married," issei counters with a wry smile. you laugh, nodding in agreement.

"well, iwa i can understand, but tooru?"

mattsun chuckles, dipping his head in a affirmative nod.

you finally make it to the end of the curb, no more concrete left stretching ahead for you to travel, and issei stands before you with your hands still held in his own.

you blink up at him.

"i'm kind of annoyed you're still taller than me even in heels and on a curb."

he smirks. "get taller heels."

your lip curls at the corner, though it's in disdain rather than smugness. "shrink."

he laughs again, a real one this time. the kind of laugh that shows all his teeth. the one that makes your tummy pang a little bit.

once his laughter subsides, he fixes you in a look that feels out of place. too intimate for two people who are standing just outside of their best friends' wedding. too intense for people who aren't supposed to look at each other like that anymore.

"you look really pretty tonight," he says softly, as gentle as the evening breeze. it makes goosebumps prickle across your skin in the same way too.

"thanks," you say with a commensurate lightness.

"new dress?" he asks, letting his eyes wander down to trail over the garment you have on. you don't mind the way his gaze feesl as it traces over you.

"no," you say, your voice still barely above a whisper. his eyes flicker back up to yours.

inside the party, you hear the song change. it's an older tune, one that was popular when you were all in high school, high energy and electronic. there's a cheer from the partygoers as you assume they're all flocking to the dance floor. it's nostalgic. makes you think about your life when the song was still on the radio. listening to it through one headphone while issei listened through the other.

"we should get back inside." you pull your hands out of issei's grasp, stepping down from the curb and past him towards the door to the event venue.

issei's hand catches yours again just before you can retreat. you pause with your feet coming together, your arm stretched behind you towards him, your eyes still on the door.

"save a dance for me, okay?"

you force down the little smile that threatens to appear, swallowing back the butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

"alright," you reply, and then you peek back over your shoulder, "only if you make sure i don't twist my ankle."

he smiles, and lets your hand drop once more.

"yeah, i can do that."

Teaser: Streams & Sheets 🔞 | JJK

Word Count: 10k+ words (im sry) Pairings: gamer!jungkook x reader Genre: gaming au, slice of life, established relationship

Summary: Nobody expected famous twitch streamer JJK to trend online when his mysterious girlfriend accidentally makes a cameo in one of his livestreams. The chaotic problem in question? You streamed a live sex tape. ( kofisips' masterlist )

Warnings: the holy trinity (smut, angst & fluff), dom!jungkook, long haired jungkook in a man bun and brow piercing, jungkook with his alphabet username (rip), unprotected sex, creampie, degrading, oral (f & m receiving), face fucking, multiple orgasm, slut shaming, dacryphilia, ass play, online humiliation, mentions of unsure breakup that's not clear with the characters, over thinking, slight ddlg

read: reply to this post or send an ask to be included in the taglist :)

As he takes a sip from his coffee, he hears your huffs and struggles to open the strawberry jam you wanted on your toast. He doesn’t intervene just yet, he stays quiet and waits for you to finally give up.

Mentally, he counts from one to three, then you turned your head and faced him with a pout, whispering his name in a soft voice, “Koo?” Your eyes emulated like that of a doe, “Can you help me out?”

“Alright, give it to me,” he chuckles, reaching for the jar and twisting it open with ease. Handing you the strawberry jam, he smiles as he watches you spread it on your toast merrily, “Anything else my baby wants?”

You hum as you thought, “Hmm, a cup of tea would be nice.”

Jungkook will never admit this, but he loves it when you ask for his help.

No matter how big or small it is, he’s willing to do anything you ask of him. Just call him in those three simple letters and he will literally cross an ocean just to help you out. Running errands is also just a breeze for him all because he knows you’d be needing help in reaching the high shelves or simply carrying anything you bought.

As selfish as it sounds, he adores the way he feels needed by you. He’s fine being called pussy whipped, the guy just loved taking good care of you.

During the first half of your relationship, he may or may not have gone overboard in looking after you. It came to a point where you felt somehow too dependent on him even when he says he doesn’t mind at all.

“Koo, I have hands,” you say sternly, pulling your heavy luggage away from his grip. Raising both of your hands in the air, you move it closer to his face, “See? I have two!”

“Baby, can’t you see this is too heavy for you to carry?” He retorts, not letting go of the handle.

For the rest of the ride to Busan, you stayed quiet. Too quiet for Jungkook’s liking. He would spare you a glance from time to time but not once did you ever meet his gaze. He didn’t understand why you had such a sour mood over a mere luggage, especially not when he’s always done things for you even when you don’t ask. 

When the silence was too much for him to bear, he finally spoke to you first, “Baby.” You finally looked at him, alright, but with an annoyed glare. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was just trying to help.”

“Not a big deal?” Your tone is slightly raised, making his forehead crease. He knows you’re about to call him by his government name next, “Jungkook, you’re always doing things for me, which I appreciate, but I can’t…I can’t keep feeling like a burden all the time.”

His eyes widened at your sudden outburst, “I– Y/N, I never meant for you to feel that way.” He reached for your hand, but not grabbing it. All he does is graze his finger over your knuckles soothingly, “I’m sorry if me constantly helping you made you feel like a burden, but I swear I just love to do things for you.”

Looking at how apologetic he truly was, there was no way you could stay mad at him. Letting out a sigh, you scoot closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder, “I understand, Koo. Just…just let me do things on my own and step in when I call for you.”

Bringing the back of your hand to his lips, he leaves a soft kiss and smiles against your skin, “Okay, love. Sounds fair.”

His favorite part of the day ever since the both of you had decided to live together was waking up entangled in silk sheets and seeing your face first thing in the morning. If there's any scent he can attribute to you, it would be the smell of coffee and cinnamon. 

That's the thing about you. You weren't a shot of espresso; you were a shot of tequila that burned a line to the throat. Aside from that, you were also good at playing video games and could smoke a whole team out if you decided to make gaming a career.

Like a support in the game, you revive him to be the best he can be. The love you give is enough for him to forget all the lower back strain he suffered from sitting on his chair for too long.

tease

| 4 |

↳ Summary: You came with the intentions of your best friend landing a job as a stripper. You never meant to catch the eyes of the king stripper of the establishment- Jeon Jungkook, yourself. With what was supposed to be a harmless way of paying off college debt faster you find yourself falling into a very odd and passionate relationship with your new mentor. Between infidelity, passion and jealousy there’s never a dull moment at Cherry Bomb.

↳ Pairing: Stripper!Jungkook/Reader

↳ Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, drama, slice of life, relationship problems without the relationship, reader is such a shy baby protect her, MUTUAL pining, so much sexual frustration,  

Word count: 10k

Previous | Next

Tags: Partial nudity, that’s it!

Song mood

Warning: This story touches on both sexual harassment and abuse, please read with caution if any of these things are triggers to you. Additional warnings will be given when a chapter present them.

—-

“God how did she ever get this job when she’s flat as a board and stiff as one too.”

Your grip on your water bottle tightened as you forcefully swallowed both it’s contents and the bubble in the back of your throat threatening to escape. This wasn’t the first snide comment you had heard all morning, in fact, you had lost count at how much brutality you had been put under by all of the girls.

Keep reading

→ Main Masterlist → Headcanons → Thirst Posts → NSFW:✩

→ Mutual Masturbation ✩ ↳ Kunigami Rensuke x f!reader.  ✍ Kunigami’s coach never allowed any sex before important match days and your boyfriend was always a stickler for the rules, no matter how stressed out it made him. But this time you’ve devised a workaround. 18+, pwp, not proofread!, mutual masturbation, praise, fingering, hand jobs, cumshots. 3.1k. → Scoring In More Ways Than One ✩ ↳ Kunigami Rensuke x Raichi Jingo x f!reader.  ✍ You knew when you first started dating Kunigami that he took football extremely seriously, and it was something that you accepted about him.  He’s waiting until he makes it into the Pro-leagues to have sex with you, because he can’t have any vices or distractions from his childhood dream, but Raichi thinks you’re the biggest distraction there is. 18+, pwp, no beta, virgin!reader, implied/hinted virgin!Kunigami, threesomes, degradation from Raichi, praise, blowjobs, hand jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, spanking, sweat, cumplay, creampies, no protection, voyeurism. 8.6k.

fracture

haitani ran x call girl!reader(+some bonten stuff)

summary: after someone tries to kill you to send a message to ran he takes personal responsibility for your safety. sure he's killed every house plant he's ever had, but this will be easier than that, right?

cw - drugs, smut, guns, murder, praise, degradation, dub!con, reader is a sex worker w a sick brother. ran likes you!!! likes you a lot!! too much probably, probably far too much.

next

Haitani Ran cuts through the smokey front lounge of the most expensive brothel in the city like the bow  of a ship through waves. Men on couches, with beautiful women sipping drinks, and giggling fill the air, the tinkling music just enough to obscure general conversation. 

Still, his general demeanor attracted a fair amount of attention, and of course, the fact that this brothel, like almost every establishment in this part of the city, belonged to him made his presence even more intimidating. Waitresses bow out of the way as he steps to the back, touching the Madam on her upper arm. 

“Where is she?” He asks, hands in his pockets. 

“Room 914.” She says, looking up at him, concerned. “She’s a good girl, highest earner here, always on time.” Ran nods. 

“I’m familiar.” His violet eyes darken. “She’s not in trouble. No one touches my girls and lives to talk shit about it.” The Madam nods, and points him down the hallway. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he walks through the door to your room, the girl whose john had turned on her when it came time to pay, but it’s not this. He pushes open the door to what was tantamount to your office, the plush pink bed covered in soft pillows, a closet full of lingerie and costumes, and you, sniffing delicately and clutching a stuffed animal to your chest. You gasp at the sight of him, of course you do, he thinks, you know who he is. “F/n?” He tries, and you visibly tremble, the tears in your eyes spilling over. 

“I’m sorry,”  you whisper, “Please, please don’t fire me, I don’t have anywhere else to go.” He softens immediately. 

“You’re not fired.” He strides over to you and sits down on the bed. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the man who attacked you.” You take a breath, and he notes the black makeup running down your cheeks. He hands you a handkerchief, but you only succeed in smearing it around. “Stop.” He orders, and you freeze, you sweet little thing. He takes your chin with one hand, and carefully wipes the makeup away. 

“He was tall, um,” you sniff, “Dark hair, but unstyled, just a mop of it. He had a tattoo of a tiger on his neck.” Ran’s brow furrows. “He said something, something I didn’t understand, about Roppongi? That he knew you.” You wipe your face again, and he notices that you’re struggling to keep one of your eyes open, that it’s clearly bruising. The redness around your neck has begun to fade to purple. “That he was going to kill me, that I was um, a warning shot.” You let out another shaky breath. 

“What did you do?” He asks. 

“I st-stabbed him, with,” you open one of your palms and hand him the eyebrow styling scissors, soaked in blood. “With these, but he got away.” 

“Tough bitch, huh?” Ran says, meaning it as a compliment but what little light was in your eyes dulls further. “C’mere,” he says, attempting comfort, an old, cold muscle, “C’mere, baby, you’re not in trouble. Bonten takes care of their own.” You break down as he pulls you into his lap. “Baby,” he tries again, as you keep crying, wiping your face self consciously. “Baby did you think we were gonna turn you in?” You nod into him, and he gathers you into his chest more tightly. He rubs a soft circle in your shoulder, wishing he still had time to make a point to test out the new girls, like he did in the beginning, so you’d have met before these unfortunate circumstances. 

“Thank you.” You whisper. “I do well here, I promise,” He nods.

“You’ll need to take a break,” He says, giving you a little squeeze, “While we find him. Do you have somewhere to go?” Your head snaps up to him, and he sees it in your eyes before you say it. 

“Nowhere safe.” He exhales, still absentmindedly rubbing your back. 

“You can stay with me,” He offers, without thinking about it. “Of course you’ll keep 

working, then.”  It takes you a moment to understand. 

“Oh, I don’t mind, whatever you want.” You say quickly. “I can follow orders.” 

“Of course you can.” He pats your shoulder, grinning. “Get your things.” He stands, “I’ll wait outside.” You nod, and he steps into the hallway, beckoning the woman back over. “She’s going home with me till it’s sorted out. No need to call the police.” His hand flies to the gun he keeps on his hip. “We’ll handle it internally.” She nods. 

“Her regulars will be disappointed.” 

“Give ‘em a discount,” Ran says, bouncing his leg impatiently. “Princess,” He drawls sarcastically, “I don’t have all day.” You throw the last thing you have into your duffel, the one you use to take your costumes and lingerie home when they need to be laundered. 

“Yes, sir,” you say, with all the brightness you can muster, wearing a wool coat over your lingerie and strappy heels. “I’m ready to go.” He offers you his arm and you take it, feeling a little awkward, and self conscious of the way your face must look to passerby. 

“My car is out front,” He says, “I’m driving, unfortunately for you. Women hate the way I drive.” 

“I’m sure I won’t mind sir.” You say quietly, barely audible over the low jazz and the hum of conversation at the front of the house. It’s raining outside and Ran opens the passenger seat of his Bentley for you, before scooting around the car. He takes a parking ticket off the windshield and tosses it in the gutter before flopping in the front seat. The bruised side of your face aside, you really were quite pretty in the low light, as you tighten  your grip on the armrest rather than complaining about the way he runs red lights, and changes lanes sporadically. 

“S’not every day I get to sit with someone who I didn’t know was ready to kill for us.” He jokes, filling the silence with words. You nod. 

“I um, it was self preservation, I can’t take credit for that.” You shrug. “I don’t know much about um, Bonten?” He glances at you. “It’s just a job for me.” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to learn a bit now.” He watches you shiver before making a left turn that pulls a screech from his tires. “So how does a girl like you end up in a place like this?” 

“How do you know it’s not for the same reasons most girls end up in places like this?” You quip and he sighs, but takes the bait, revealing how much he’d already noticed about you. 

“No track marks,” he says, “And you’re too clear headed to be into uppers, plus anyone with a real rap sheet would have bolted if she thought we’d turn her in, which you did.” 

“I like xanax.” You say, crossing your arms and he laughs. 

“Of course you do,” he reaches over the seat without looking and flicks your temple. ”Got too much goin’ on in there, huh?” You don’t bother trying to fight him. “Never mind, figured it out.”  

“I doubt that.” You say serenely, before tacking on a “Sir.” 

“Do you do that with everyone?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder before changing lanes. Your grip on the console gets tighter. “The honorifics?” 

“Oh, no.” You shrug. “All the girls learn what the executives like, so that you don’t have to tell us if you decide to come by.” He can’t keep the smile from his face, 

“Fuck, I love my life.” He slams on the brakes in front of a huge glass apartment building. “C’mon sweetheart, we’re home.” You reach for the door, and he shakes his head. “I’m a gentleman, please,” you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. The rain’s picked up, but he doesn’t jog, a few long strides closing the distance around the car and swinging your door open, offering you his arm again, like some kind of giant regency gentleman. He leads you back to the building, watching you shiver in the lobby, waiting until you’re in the elevator to speak again. 

“Don’t you want to know,” he says, examining his own reflection, “What I figured out about you?” You sigh deeply. 

“Yes sir.” 

“That’s no fun!” He pouts, as you rocket up to the penthouse. “Engage with me.” He watches you performatively straighten, a practiced smile spreading across your face. “Nevermind, no acting with me, only real shit. That’ll be rule number one for staying at my place.” You nod. The doors swing open and he gets to watch the genuine shock as you step into his huge penthouse suite. 

“Oh my god,” you look all around, from the wall of windows, to the balcony, you step out of your shoes and walk across the floor mesmerized. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” You feel his hand come to rest on your back. 

“Yeah sweetheart,” he says, “Can I get you a drink?” You nod. “And I’ve got a first aid kit for emergencies.” You raise your unbruised eyebrow. “What?” 

“I didn’t take you for the caring type.” You muse and his lips twitch downward. 

“I have little siblings.” He says, pouring two glasses of whiskey and sitting on the couch. “I’m actually used to it.” He smirks. “So tell daddy where it hurts?” He’s surprised when  you let out a shaky, honest breath. 

“I’m so,” you take a big gulp of the whiskey, “I’m so scared,” your voice trembles, your hands shake, “I know I’m safe with you, sir, but I’m really afraid.” He can see it now, your eye is bad, it’s going to be swollen shut in the morning. 

“C’mere,” he shrugs out of his jacket and opens his arms. You reluctantly move across the couch, still holding your drink, taking a big sip of it before leaning down against his chest. “Was that so hard?” You feel one of his long arms wrap around you. 

“I don’t,” you start, “I don’t have a lot of experience asking for what I need.” He chuckles, bringing the drink to his lips. 

“You don’t get to be the highest earner at a place like that by prioritizing your own needs.” He says, starting to rub a circle in your shoulder. “You get that by being observant, and versatile.” He rubs his eyes. “Did we poach you from another house? I’m trying to remember how you got hired.” 

“You did.” You yawn, ignoring the throbbing of your head, drinking more, “You offered me healthcare.” Ran breaks into a wide smile. 

  “Subsidized healthcare for whores,” he finishes his drink, “Not even that expensive and suddenly we have the cleanest and the best girls in the city.”  You nod. “Not gonna complain about me calling you a whore?” You laugh lightly, feeling the whiskey dull your pain, and warm your body. 

“It’s pretty famously acknowledged that men hate listening to women nag. So I never do it when I’m working.” Ran nods slowly, scooting you off him and standing. 

“We’ll see about that.”  He takes the first aid kit and opens it on the coffee table, you sit up obediently and face him. He takes you in, now that he can look at you in normal light, even bruised and red eyed from crying, you were absolutely stunning. There’s something primordial about your beauty, like it’s not defined from your features, but by something burning inside you. He swallows, ripping open an alcohol swab. “C’mere.” He says and opens his palm, you lean forward, until your chin is resting in his hand. “Fucker nearly bashed your head in.” You don’t respond to that, but he clocks your little gasp of pain when he starts dabbing at the cut by your eyebrow. 

“Really,” you mumble, “Didn’t expect you to do this.” It’s true, Ran could have had someone else, anyone else take care of you, he could have dropped you at a hotel, or one of the other brothels, but something, some instinct had him bring you here instead. 

“When I was a kid, my brother got into more fights than me.” He explains, “I mean, no one would agree with that, because once Rin was in, I was in, whatever it was. But I got pretty used to patching him up.” A tear leaks out of your left eye, “I’m almost done.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You whisper. 

“You’ll make it up to me.” He says brightly, before carefully putting a little gauzy band aid over the affected area. “So, we were discussing you.” 

“Were we?” You murmur, and then you remember. “Oh you said you’d figured me out.” He nods. 

“Daddy issues.” He says, and you raise your good eyebrow, then wince. “Let me make some assumptions, you tell me if I’m wrong.” 

“Okay.” You feel Ran’s hands move down your bruised clavicle, and push your jacket off your shoulders. 

“I’m checking for swelling,” he murmurs, light touches down your shoulders. “But, you had no strong authority figures as a child.” 

“Correct.” You answer. 

“Maybe your mom was around, in some capacity, but daddy was always working,” You shrug. 

“That’s one way to put it.” He raises his eyebrows and you sigh and continue. “My father worked in finance,” 

“Rich little princess, huh?” He says, opening a new alcohol swab to dab at a scrape just below your collarbone from when the attacker dragged you across the rug. 

“Apparently.” You say softly. “Till he went to prison, and my mom fell off the wagon.” Ran nods slowly. 

“He screw a bunch of well meaning middle class people over or something?” He asks, slipping the strap of your lingerie off your shoulder. 

“Something like that.” You inhale sharply as Ran experimentally presses the swab against the scrape, to see if you’ll squirm.  

“If I asked you for something,” he says, smoothing some gauze over the cut. “You’d give it to me.” 

“Yes sir,” you say, fighting the exhaustion, your head hurts, and your body aches, but you’re working, you remind yourself, it’s a job. 

“So if I asked you to tell me the truth about how you were feeling right now, you would?” Your hands fly to your temples, massaging them. 

“Everything hurts,” you mumble, “And now I’m exhausted, and a little drunk.” You glance over the shoulder. “Am I on the couch?” 

“Nope,” Ran says, glee back in his voice as he closes the first aid kit. “My bed.” he lifts you like a child, cradling you to his chest, “There we are.” You shiver, then snuggle into the warmth of his body as he carries you across the penthouse. He deposits you on the bed carelessly, and you wince, curling into the fetal position with an arm wrapped around your ribs. 

“Your ribs might be broken,” Ran muses. 

“Why,” you say through gritted teeth, “Did you throw me?” 

“Because if you’re not going to tell me what hurts I’m going to find out somehow, now get up you have to brush your teeth.” 

“Are you serious?” You lift your head and he chuckles dangerously, enjoying the real pain and anger in  your eyes. 

“You still work for me.'' He says. “I’m not going to hit you, if I can help it, but it’s in your best interest not to push-” he stops when you don’t seem to be listening, your face screwed up in pain, and the last soft part of his soul tugs at him. “Alright,” he sits on the bed and rubs your   forehead. “I’ll have a doctor here first thing this morning, alright,” you take a shaky breath and he sees a tear you're unable to blink away. 

“This,” you press your lips together,voice tiny and tight, “This really, really hurts.” He massages his jaw, he’s not sure what he wanted, what possessed him to bring you here, what’s causing this odd protective stirring in his chest. It’s true, this was probably the best choice for Bonten, given that this man would be looking for you and causing trouble if you were anywhere else, but normally that wouldn’t have bothered him enough to open up his personal space to you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me your ribs hurt?” He asks, but realizes as soon as he says it, “Oh, you want to get back to work, huh?” You nod, your eyes are screwed shut now. “Whaddya need money for, sweetheart?” He’s back to softly rubbing your forehead. 

“Got a brother.” You breathe out slowly, “Sick. He needs the money.” Ran blinks at you in the darkness, withdrawing his hand. You hear him open and close a drawer and then feel something cold press to your cheek. 

You open your eyes and he’s ice cold, all mirth and teasing gone from his face. You don’t move, just try to hold his gaze. 

“How long have you worked for me?” He says, and you look confused by the question but answer. 

“A-about eight months.” 

“And where did we poach you from?”  

“The silver dragon.” You answer, a slight tremor from your voice, “What did I-” 

“Just answer some questions for me.” He says, pressing the gun harder into your cheek. “Did you know the man you stabbed?” You look up at him, eyes wide, “I asked you a fucking question.” 

“N-no.” You breathe. 

“You think you can show up here, with some sob story about a sick brother and get whatever you want from me, think I’ll let my guard down?” He still sounds calm. 

“No, no please,” you plead, “I can prove it, if you look on my phone, I have pictures of us.” He nods. 

“Get up.” You choke out a sob as the stabbing pain in your chest bursts forth, but struggle to your feet. He doesn’t help you, or let you lean on him, but he doesn’t push your pace as you struggle to walk back to his couch, barefoot in a silk slip, “Sit.” He says and you do, he keeps the gun to your head while he pulls your phone out of your coat pocket. “Passcode?” 

“9965.” You whisper, and a shiver runs up your spine, causing pain to bloom in your chest. He clicks into your phone, it’s depressing, barely any texts, but if he opens your photos it’s true, most of the pictures are of a younger boy with whom you share several features. He looks sickly and thin, and in some of them he’s making faces in a hospital bed, posing with an actor dressed as spiderman. Ran’s heart rate calms a little, but he’s not convinced. He opens your internet history, scrolling through it. 

“There’s a lot of porn here,” He muses, and the pressure with which he’s pushing on your head with the gun lessens. 

“It’s not like most of my appointments are interested in my pleasure,” you keep your eyes closed, unwilling to witness your own end, “And I have to take care of myself.” He chuckles, but between the porn and occasional shopping link it’s clear you’ve been doing research on childhood illness for at least as long as he can scroll, which is 10 months. It’s a lot of detail and work to put into tricking him, especially when you couldn’t guarantee he’d even look at your phone. He pockets the device. 

“This is mine now.” He says, but the only thing you really understand is that he withdraws the gun from your head. You try not to cry in relief, but end up barely biting back the sob, the pain tears at your chest. “Let’s get you washed up,” his touches are soft again, practically carrying you to the bathroom, giving you an extra toothbrush. He puts the gun away in a nightstand. You climb into his bed, scooting under the blanket, it’s a light but warm duvet. You’re making an effort to control your breathing, and you haven’t spoken to him since he took your phone. “Did I scare you?” He says, unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it on a chair. 

“Yes, sir.” You whisper, and he notes that the honorifics are back. He takes his rings and earring off, depositing them in a little dish beside his bed. He steps out of his pants, and flicks the light off, the only light coming from the full moon and the city, silver white patterns from his window are painted across his bed. He hooks his thumbs in his briefs and steps out of them, laughing when  you avert your eyes from the way his cock hangs heavily between his legs while he grabs a clean pair. “Modest, for a whore.” You don’t respond, shrugging then wincing at what it does to your chest. “I could give you something for the pain?” He offers, and you narrow your eyes. “What?” 

“I’m trying to decide if I trust you not to slip me something because you think it’s funny.” He giggles. 

“I mean it would be funny, but I’m a gentleman, and if I wanna watch a hot girl trip and lose her shit I coulda grabbed almost anyone else from your place of work on your way out.” 

“You’re a gentleman?” You raise your eyebrows, “Did your mother teach you it’s polite to hold young women at gunpoint.” His eyes narrow. 

“I think you don’t want to see what it looks like when I get impolite.” He says, and there’s a dark edge to his tone. Your eyes are on his tattoos as he lies down next to you, “Now come here.” You obey, ignoring the ache in your chest as he pulls you next to him. He digs in his drawer and pulls out a pill bottle, “Open,” he says, and you part your lips, sticking your tongue out. He puts a tiny blue pill out and places it on your tongue. It starts to dissolve and you watch him take one too. “Coulda left you there.” he grumbles. “Coulda just let you go home.” 

“I know.” You say softly. “I was um, I was teasing you,” He glances down at you, you feel a warmth spreading over your body. “I’m glad,” you follow an impulse, “That you didn’t leave me there.” You take one of his huge hands with both of yours, and his heart flutters uncomfortably. 

“So really,” He turns to you. “Not only am I a gentleman but I’m your knight in shining armor.” You sigh deeply, feeling the painkiller work its way through your system. “Say it please.” 

“Say what?” You blink up at him dumbly and fuck, his stomach does a back flip. “Sir.” You remember, barely. 

“Say I’m,” his head is clouding over, “Say I’m  your knight in shining armor,” he needles and you squeeze his hand. 

“Y-you saved me.” You mumble. “The knight thing is too cheesy, I can’t do it.” 

“Then kiss me.” He demands, and you obey, struggling to prop yourself up. He leans down impatiently, pressing his lips to yours with a desperate hunger, not caring about the little whimper you make at the pain of this position. He only pulls away when  you’re breathless. “Heal up.” He says, leaning over and kissing your forehead in an oddly caring and soft way. 

“Mhm,” you agree, drifting off to a peaceful sleep, the medicine fogging your mind. Ran watches you for a while, amazed at how quickly you relax even with the drugs. They take longer to hit him, and he laces and unlaces your fingertips, plays with your hair, even presses gently on the bruises on your body, just enough to pull a sleepy whimper from your lips, determined to find your weaknesses before you find his. 

You wake before him, nestled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. You don’t stir, don’t move a muscle, every part of your body aches, from your ribs, to your face, to your neck. Ran’s got a tight grip on you, and he’s snoring softly. His alarm goes off a few minutes later, though and he smacks it with one huge hand, groaning. He sits up and examines you blearily. Overnight your bruises have gotten worse, you’re still pretty, but half your face is fucked, the bruises extend down from your eye to the corner of your jaw, and your neck is dappled with darkness and burst blood vessels. You hum softly and he rubs his eyes. 

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, “Our doctor will be here in an hour, and then I’m going to work, and you’re gonna stay here.” You nod. “Don’t get into my shit.” he warns and you shrug. “You can order whatever you want for lunch,” he digs through his wallet and puts a black card on the nightstand. 

“Can I have my phone back?” 

“No.” He rolls his eyes. 

“How will I order, then?” You bury your face back into the pillows and he thinks about it. “I’ll leave you a burner phone.” He opens a drawer and tosses you a blank cell phone. You nearly don’t catch it and he chuckles at you. “Stay put for a sec.” He jogs out of the bedroom, still in only his lavender briefs. He comes back a second later with a few bags, he’s got frozen peas, some frozen ore-ida french fries, and a bag of frozen pineapple. “Ice that shit.” He orders, “Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” he eyes you warily. “I’d tie you down but you’re gonna have to use the restroom, huh.” You nod, and he sighs deeply, taking his phone out and putting it to his ear, “Can I get two decent guys up to my penthouse in the next half hour, need them to watch a girl for a day. Tell them it’s a cushy assignment, a chance to ah,” he grins evilly, “Impress me.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but he still regards you warily while finishing the phone call. You press the peas to the side of your face and wince at the temperature. Ran puts the phone in the crook of his neck, 

“Hold on a second,” he says. “Hey, dummy,” he snaps at you, “Gently.” You nod, and he rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Yeah, I got a girl who’s never put ice on a bruise before to deal with,” he says to the person on the other end of the phone, ignoring you as he slips more pillows behind your back. “Yeah, I told her she was dumb already,” He pats your head with one huge hand, still talking to the other guy as he disappears into the bathroom to shower. You relax against the pillows, curling up into the fetal position with the bag of frozen peas on your face. Ran come back in half an hour later, and you’ve got the pineapple bag on your neck. 

“What a good girl,” he coos, condescension dripping from his words, “But you’re missing your ribs, are they swollen?” 

“I, I don’t know.” You respond more quietly than he expects. He narrows his violet eyes and comes to your side of the bed, pushing you gently onto your back and removing the pineapple bag. “Sir?” You crane your neck to see what he’s doing as he peels the blanket back and then lifts your dress. You gasp at the sight of your skin, you knew  you were injured, but the nebula of bruises and the slight swelling shocks you. Ran seems unphased, pressing lightly on the bruise, just enough to make you whimper. 

“They’re not broken.” He murmurs, almost to himself, then remembers you, “But don’t fucking move too much, alright?” He stands, “Jesus.” He digs through his drawer, taking the bottle of pills and leaving one on the nightstand, shoving the bottle into his pocket, “Can’t have ya doin’ anything stupid.”

“Yes, sir,” you chirp, just a slight degree of mocking to your voice. He furrows his eyebrows, but doesn’t admonish you. He leaves shortly after that, in some monstrosity of a pastel suit, and no tie, a thin silver chain visible around his neck. You take the pill, and nearly don’t notice when two men come in, talking loudly. 

“He said she’d be sleepin’ but we gotta make sure no one gets in here,” one of them says, “Oi,” You stir, opening your good eye. “Mr. Haitani said you should be icin’  your shit.” You sit up and turn to face them, hearing their collective intake of breath at your face. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” They’re both tall, broad and tattooed, one blonde, one dark haired. “You alright?” 

“No,” you almost whine, “Where’s the doctor?” 

“Runnin’ late.” One of them takes the iced food away and brings something else from Ran’s freezer. You hold it to your face as a tear leaks from your eye. Neither of the men talk much, which is fine, with the pill you’re drifting in and out of consciousness. You wake a few hours later, and an extremely hurried doctor pronounces you injured, hairline fractures on your ribs, no orbital fractures, and gives you a few painkillers that you’ll have to take with water, and that he tells you not to mix with alcohol or drive on. You scroll through the burner phone, then look up at the men. 

“Um, he said I could get lunch?” They blink at you. “Do you want lunch?” You take the black card off the night table, “I was thinking um, burgers, or something?” 

“Yeah, sure.” One of them says, and you hand them the phone and let them put their order in through the app, then add your own and put in the card information. You lay back, with the ice numbing your bruises. 

“Can um,” you close your eyes, “One of you wake me when the food gets here?” 

“Sure, honey.” One of them quips, and about an hour later you’re vaguely aware of an argument in the living room about which one of them should go down to get the food, because they both were supposed to stay up in the penthouse, when you hear the doorbell ring. It strikes you as odd for a full second. You hadn’t given the delivery person anything but the building address, no indication of the floor they should come to. Instinct overrides your terror and you fumble for the gun you saw Ran put away the night before. You hear a quick shout, and the smashing of furniture, as you stumble out of bed and click the safety off, holding it out in front of you. 

“Stop,” you cry quickly, and the severity of your situation becomes clear. One of the men Ran left you with is bleeding on the floor, having been caught off guard, and the other is grappling with a much larger man, who has him pinned. It looks like two intruders have broken in, with the second stalking towards you, both with matching tiger tattoos. “D-don’t move.” You say, cursing your stutter. “I’ll, I’ll shoot you.” 

“Stupid fuckin’ bitch,” the man snarls, and you can see something wild in his honeyed eyes, while his companion chokes the life out of the last conscious bonten member. “Put it down.” 

“I will shoot you.” You plant your bare feet on the ground, unaware if you're dizzy or just swaying a bit from the drugs. What happens next you’re not entirely sure, even though you’d be asked to recount it many times. He lunges for you, and you squeeze the trigger a couple times, squealing at the noise it makes even with the silencer on the end of the weapon. The recoil makes pain explode in  your hand, but when you’re out of bullets, no one is standing anymore. You sink, shaking, to your knees.

The man who lunged for you and his companion are both bleeding out on Ran’s expensive looking oriental rug. 

“Oh my god,”  you whisper, “Oh my god.” Almost on autopilot, you fumble for your cell phone, and find only the burner. You hover over the 9 for 911, but stop yourself, instead dialing the only number that’s saved. 

“Haitani,” You hear. 

“M-m-mr. Haitani,” you choke out, and Ran’s frowns at your tone, standing and walking out of the room he was in. “They, they came here for me and-” 

“Are you hiding?” He interrupts, grabbing his coat and signaling to a few of his men to follow him. 

“N-no,” you stammer, “I might have,” you can’t hear your own voice, you’re faraway from your own body. “I might have done something.” He’s in the elevator at this point. “Y-you know the gun in your nightstand?” He laughs. “Please don’t.” You beg. 

“If you shot one of my men they get to shoot you,” He quips, “Thems the breaks.” 

“No,” you swallow, “M-mr. Haitani, I shot,” the joy melts from his face as his car pulls up in front of the offices. “I shot them, the um, the people breaking in.” His eyes shoot open and he barks out a laugh.

“Don’t touch anything.” He says. “Don’t even move or breathe too much until I get there, understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” You choke out, sinking to the floor again and sitting there. You’re not sure how long it takes for him to burst into the room with a few men, not sure how long you sit on the floor, dizzied and nauseated by the scent of iron. Ran strides into the room and surveys the damage, then looks at you, small and broken, on your knees holding the gun. He leans down, pressing his finger to one of the men’s neck before standing again with a little huff. 

“Well, that’s that then.” You burst into tears. “Aw princess, don’t cry,” he coos, and reaches for you, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” He turns to his men. “And you, clean this up. I wanna know how the fuck they got up here, and I want to know yesterday. Clear?” The men nod, “They alive?” he asks about the bonten men and one of them groans. “Hey bastard,” Ran snaps, “Whatever rank you were, this bitch is now your fucking boss,” you’re still crying softly, wondering if he means for you to take his extended hand. He looks back at you, annoyed, and then plucks you off your knees, lifting you to a standing position. He takes you to his bathroom and helps you strip, you’re still bruised, and high, and a little concussed. “Gonna keep crying even if I tell you to shut up?” You nod, giving him a little hiccuping sob.

“S-sorry.” You choke out and he nods, turning the water on and kicking his shoes off, stepping out of his pants. “What are you d-doing,” you say wiping your face. 

“We’re gonna burn anything that you were wearing,” he says, “Same for me, since I touched you, alright,  but you’ve got blood on you so let’s get into the shower.” He’s a little impatient, tugging you into the steam. You cover yourself at first, nonsensically but he doesn’t peel your hands away. Instead he reaches for a bottle of soap. It smells like sweet almond oil, and he cleans himself first, washing his hair, his face, his shoulders. He notices the way you keep your attention up at his face, nearly ignoring his cock. 

“I’m a shower not a grower,” he quips, and you sniff, still reeling. “Alright,” he takes a pump of the soap, “Okay, let’s just,” he starts on your shoulders, dexterous hands moving over your aching muscles, a bit of red running down the drain as the blood washes off of you. His hands dip lower quickly, and he pushes your hands away from your breasts. He groans softly at the feeling of them in his hands, running his thumbs over your nipples and squeezing them, delighting in the way you squirm, your breath evening. 

“W-what’s gonna happen to me?” You whisper, and he shrugs, moving his hands lower, barely stopping at your waist before he slips them behind to cup your ass. 

“I like a bitch who takes care of herself,” he squeezes at the soft flesh. “Because it means if I take that away, you don't have anything left but me.” A shiver runs up your spine. “I’m gonna keep you,” you feel his hand dip between your legs, “And you don’t get a say in the matter,” he crouches a little so that you can look him in the eyes. “Does that feel good?” 

“A little,” you get out, as he parts your folds with one long finger,  you can feel the cool of his rings as the warm water drips between you. 

“You’re afraid of me?” He asks, eyes serious for a moment. 

“Y-yes sir,” you press your lips together, “I sh-shouldn’t have taken your gun, I’m s-sor-” He cuts you off with a chuckle. 

“If you hadn’t taken it you’d have just bled all over my sheets while you died.” He shrugs. “And I wouldn’t have appreciated that. I’m glad you took it.” You swallow. “Are you glad,” he asks, and you gasp softly as he slips a finger inside you, “That you killed those men?” 

“N-no,” the tears burn in your eyes, “I didn’t mean to.” 

“That’s what I thought,” he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead, “You’re just a good girl, caught up in something bigger, huh?” You nod, feeling the way he presses up softly against that spongey spot inside you. “Such a sweet little thing,” he muses as you draw a shaky breath, he knows what he’s doing, knows how to pull soft music from your lips, “Adorable little mouse caught in a trap.” 

“Ah,” you close your eyes, sighing, and he moves you, pushing you up against the cool black marble of his shower. 

“Since you’re such a good girl,” he repeats, “And you don’t wanna hurt anyone, I’ll take care of you, alright, daddy’s gonna make those bodies disappear,” you sniff, he adds a second finger, pulling the softest moan from your lips. “And in return, you’re gonna do everything I say, how does that sound?” 

“It sounds,” you can’t think clearly, “It sounds, um,” you gasp, he scissors his fingers inside of you and you feel the pain dully in your ribs, “Sounds um, thank you,” you close your eyes leaning against the cool tile wall, lost in the drugs, in the feeling of his thumb rubbing soft circles around your clit. 

“Just say yes, daddy,” he taunts and you let out a soft whine. 

“Y-yes, daddy,” your back arches off the wall of the shower. 

“You’re too high to fake shit with me right now,” he feels your legs start to tremble and you nod, “But it’s not allowed, understand?” 

“Yes,” you feel the hot coil in your stomach tighten as he picks up the pace, “Yes, daddy.” 

“Such a good girl,” he exclaims, dripping in condescension, examining you clinically. You’re bruised, and out of it, your eye is swollen shut to the point that you’re avoiding the gentle fall of water on the purpled skin. “My good girl.” You nod, whimpering. “You’re mine,” he repeats, “Say it.” 

“I’m yours,” it comes out soft, and high pitched as he fingers you roughly. 

“Cum for me, then,” he says, leaning further down and kissing your neck as you cum on his hand, gushing around him and crying softly, so overwhelmed with emotion and sensation that your knees buckle. He catches you handily, helping you into a soft white towel and laying you down in his bed. “Open.” He says and you obey mindlessly, letting him place another pill on your tongue, a different one, that makes your world so fuzzy at the edges that consciousness slips from you quickly. He gets dressed and strides back into his living room. The bodies are rolled up in rugs, the blood is gone, and Ran’s gun is sitting on the table, wiped clean of fingerprints. 

“Did you need to fuck the girl first?” He hears, and Rindou walks out of his half bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel. “Was it absolutely necessary for you to fuck the girl.” Ran grins evilly. 

“Would you be proud of me to know that for once in my life I was an unselfish lover?” Rindou retches. 

“No,” He takes some black latex gloves from his pocket. “So what, you had to-” 

“She was too injured to stand  on her own in the shower,” Ran explains impatiently, striding to the kitchen and pouring himself a drink. “Why are you here, exactly?” 

“Can’t I be worried about you, my only brother?” He says, crouching next to one of the bodies, pulling out one of their wallets. “This is,” he frowns, looking at the ID. 

“What’s up?” Ran quips, joining him. 

“The address on here isn’t a real place.” Rindou murmurs. “Because it’s the apartment building next to the one we grew up in in Roppongi.” Ran’s brow furrows. “And they tore that down a few months ago, I think.” 

“Someone trying to send us a message?” Ran says, quirking an eyebrow. Rindou nods. “Well,” he draws himself up to his full height. “I’m gonna beef up security.” 

“What’ll you do with her?” A smile plays on Rindou’s lips and Ran scoffs. 

“She’s mine now.” He shrugs. “Shiny new toy for me.”

You don’t see Ran again until later, you wake alone in his bedroom, stomach growling. You stumble to the living room, half high, half awake, and Ran is waiting for you, sitting on the couch on his laptop. 

“You’re up,” he says, lifting his head, watching you look around blearily. “It’s all gone, baby, all clean in here.” You nod, hands trembling. “Come here.” He pats the couch and you wince sitting down next to him. “You still need your brother's hospital bills paid?” He asks and you nod, letting him pull your body into his chest. “Consider it taken care of. You’ve been promoted in our organization.” You look up at him and he takes a big black gun from a shoulder holster. “C’mon,” he takes your hand and arranges it on the handle correctly. “Like this.” You bury your face in his neck. 

“I don’t want to hurt people.” You mumble, and he feels your lips move against his clean shave. 

“You need to learn how to use this.” He says calmly, “Focus for me.” He watches you direct your attention fully to his large hands on the gun. “This is a safety,” he clicks it on and off, “When  you’re not using it, you leave this on.” You nod. “We’ll getcha some practice.” You take his arm, and he looks at you, surprised. You press your whole body up against his side, nuzzling into him. 

“Thank you for not just killing me.” You whisper. He shrugs.

“You’re useful.” 

“I want to um,” you blink up at him, eyes round. “I want to be useful to you.” He laughs. 

“You’re in absolutely no shape to suck me off.” He gives your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll give you the chance to make it up to me sweetheart,” he leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “After all, I own you now.” You swallow. It’s true, he has the bodies, the evidence, the power, not to mention he’s the one with a gun. 

next chapter

Hi everyone....

To make a long story short, people are awful and I was robbed of $1,100. I'm not totally broke but I'm definitely seen better days.

And I am wondering, to help with this loss, if people would be interested if I did some commissions?

Like drabbles (900 words) for like $3. Longer ones (like 1k - 2k) for $6 and anything that's higher than 2k would be like $10.

If anyone is interested let me know so I can set something up. And even if all you can do is reblog this to let others know, that would be very much appreciated too.

Love you all 💛💛

Just Friends!? - masterlist

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

CW- Will be explicit and smutty (it's me!?) based on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazinggg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙 Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- he'll have a whole retainer and he'll dance to boys to men a la the movieee

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Kofi link (if you feel generous & wanna buy me a ☕️

Sooo adorable

LOVE TRAIN: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS | BAKUGO KATSUKI

✮ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ SYNOPSIS: bakugo katsuki could never find the right time to confess to you. however, that all changes the moment the love train invites both of you on a trip.

✮ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ CONTENT: afab!reader (she/her) ! childhood friends to lovers ! pre-dystopian aspects, robots & artificial intelligence ! size kink, cumplay, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, nipple play, pussyjob, claiming, unprotected sex. + 6.25k words !

KINKTOBER 2023 MASTERLIST ! here's the first installment of this year's kinktober. im starting it off light and sweet with my baby boy bakugo. it's all lovey dovey more than anything else uwu!

to: bakugokatsuki@gmail.com

from: invite@lovetrain.com 

YOU HAVE BEEN INVITED TO ATTEND THE LOVE TRAIN!

The Love Train is a transportation system designed to assist those in or pursuing romantic relationships. This four hour program, at minimum, helps absolve any obstacles that we’ve seen to be causing hindrance to the relationship. In the time taken to make amends, there will be lengthy activities to help you progress.

According to our database, you have been yearning after your childhood friend, Your First & Last Name. We want to help you confess! 

Do you accept this invitation, Bakugo Katsuki?

Yes or No.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

BAKUGO KATSUKI HAS INVITED YOU TO ATTEND THE LOVE TRAIN, A ROMANTIC TRAIN RIDE FOR TWO! 

Am I reading this correctly? Staring at your screen, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The Love Train, you’ve heard about it. The raves and reviews are all positive, no rating lower than a four. Your friends that went on there are now happily married, having returned with the most lovesick smiles on their faces. 

You had always hoped to be given an invite. From what you’ve heard, the Love Train is an exclusive experience to which they have to reach out to you first or your partner must invite you. Seeing how Bakugo has invited you, he must’ve been the lucky one. But, why you?

Exiting out of your emails, you call Bakugo immediately, having his number on speed dial.

“What d’ya want?” he greets, ruckus happening in the background. Putting the phone on speaker, you return back to the email and read through it. You’re trying to see if you read it wrong, but it clearly reads your name as well as Bakugo’s.

“Did you mean to invite me to this thing?” You head straight to the point, dropping yourself down on the couch and reaching for the remote as you rest your phone on the arm of the couch. “Or are you just fucking with me?”

There's silence before he speaks. As if he knows exactly why you’re calling him. “What’re ya talkin’ about?” He asks, trying to keep that same tone in his voice, not wanting to give anything away.

“This invite to the Love Train?” you speak. “It says here that you’ve invited me for a ‘romantic train ride for two.’ What’s this about?”

“Oh,” he feigns recognition, conjuring a story that you’ll hopefully believe. “Yeah, they sent me an offer to join and said I could bring whoever I choose. And I chose you.”

“Katsuki,” you frown. “That’s not funny. If you’re doing this for shits and giggles, that’s not cute. Do you know how rare this opportunity is?”

“So what?” Bakugo drawls. “It’ll be fun. What? You worried I might kiss ya?”

Your face heats up at that, scoffing as you try to play it cool and fan off his jibe. “No!” you exclaim. “I’m just saying. Shouldn't you have chosen someone that you’re in a relationship with? What happened to, uh, Kirishima? He was a nice guy.”

“Didn’t work out,” Bakugo answers shortly. “We’re more like friends than anything else. Anyway, who says the Love Train can’t be for friends, huh? We can spend the time getting to know more about each other.”

“We practically know everything about each other, ‘Suki,” you deadpan. “What else more don’t I know about you?”

“Ya never know,” Bakugo quips. “Also, it’s an all expenses paid experience— free food and drinks and shit like that. Why would ya want to try and pass it down?”

Bakugo’s reasoning is quick to sway you, though the sound of free food and drinks always gets you out of the house. Though you think Bakugo should find someone else to go with, you don’t want to miss this opportunity. What if you never get another invite at all? 

“So,” Bakugo breaks the silence. “You coming or what? Did I really waste an invite on ya?”

“I’m coming,” you decide. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

Bakugo is always early to everything, so it’s no surprise to you to see him already at the train station. His ash blond hair is styled in its typical haggard state, something he’s able to easily pull off. A man who regularly works out, he stands tall and makes everyone feel like dwarves. 

You’ve dressed casually, in a simple dress that falls right above your knees. Bakugo, on the other hand, is dressed like he’s on a date. A navy blue, long-sleeved button up and charcoal slacks, he’s overdressed. Considering that the last conversation the two of you had, you both agreed that this was a casual thing. However, you quickly replace whatever apprehensive thoughts you have with ‘Oh, he’s just playing the part.’ And with a roll of your eyes, you go to approach him.

“Well, well, well,” you smirk. “Don’t you look quite dashing.”

Bakugo was nervous the moment he arrived, sweating profusely as his breathing is unsteady. He’s never been like this before, so he panicked, fanning his underarms while trying not to seem pathetic about it. It’s not even that hot out, he grunts as his chest heaves. 

When you had called him the week prior, he never expected you to react the way you did. He didn’t know what to expect exactly, but the way he envisioned it, you would’ve accepted the invite with no hesitation and no questions asked. The fact that you seemed apprehensive about the entire ordeal made him grow nervous, trying to cancel it altogether, only to find out that he couldn’t. 

First receiving the invite, he didn’t know what to take it for. It must’ve been a scam. Though it was short and didn’t go into too much detail, it caught him off guard to know that the internet knew of his feelings toward you. How’d they know your entire name? That we’ve been friends since childhood? This must be some sort of prank? 

So, he called Denki right after. “Whatever the fuck you just sent me, it’s not fucking funny, Shit-for-Brains.”

“Woah,” Denki gasps, taken aback. “Woah, woah! What’re you talking about, dude?”

“This Love Train bullshit,” Bakugo reads off his laptop. “This shit ain’t funny. Trying to play with my feelings by putting Y/N’s name. That’s where I draw the line at yer stupid prank.”

“I didn’t do anything—” And another caller rolls in. Your name reading off the caller ID. Hanging up on Denki, Bakugo lets out a deep breath before answering the call. “What d’ya want?”

He lied to you, not wanting you to know that he never sent an invite. He was contemplating on telling you the truth, telling you that he just received the email at the same time as you. However, the more you went on about the Love Train being serious, he wanted to take this opportunity. He wanted to make the most about it.

However, every minute that he has to wait is a moment that’s swallowing him whole. Anxiety ensues him. Something that he’s never felt before, always confident in his choices. Until today. He’s ready to go, the time nearing 4:30 pm and every second that passes, this heavy feeling on his chest is starting to overweight him.

Standing abruptly, he feels himself collide with someone else. “Shit,” he curses. “Are ya— Oh, yer here.”

And whatever nerves he felt before, he hides them with ease. His breathing finally steadies at the sight of you, fixing a scowl on his face as he holds a hand out for you. You have fallen down on the concrete with a screech. “What took ya so long?”

“So, you can’t say sorry?” You groan, accepting his open hand to help you up. Dusting off your dress, you nudge Bakugo with a pout. “That really hurt.”

“Sorry,” he finally apologizes. “I didn’t see ya.”

“You’re forgiven,” you sigh before there’s a silence between the two of you. Looking over at him, you remember what you were trying to tell him before he knocked you off your feet. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“Huh?” His palms are sweating now. Wiping them off on his slacks, the time finally reads 4:30 pm and the train has yet to arrive. He’s being impatient, he knows, but the quicker he gets this over with, the sooner he’ll know your response. “No, I didn’t.”

“Before you practically pushed me down,” Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms. “I said, ‘don’t you look quite dashing.’ Why’re you so dressed up? I thought we agreed that we were just going as friends.”

“Yeah,” Bakugo gulps. “But, I wanted to look the part. Can’t have people lookin’ at me weird when we’re getting on the Love Train.”

“I didn’t know you cared about what people think,” you raise an eyebrow, giving him a knowing smirk.

“Yeah well,” he rubs the back of the neck. “I don’t want people thinking I don’t dress up for my girl— even if yer not.”

Your stomach twists, ignoring the last bit of his sentence. My girl, you can’t help but imagine that. Being his girl. It sounds nice. 

“And, aren’t ya a little dressed up, too?” He challenges, giving you a once over. “Never have you ever worn a dress around me before. Did ya dress up for me, doll?”

Getting flustered, you’re taken aback. As you’re at a loss for words, there’s the deep rumbling of a train ready to arrive. People are starting to empty the station, the crowds getting smaller and smaller. Before you can throw back whatever remark you can at Bakugo, there’s a train hurdling in your way. A pretty hue of dusty pink that you can only assume is the Love Train. 

“I think that’s us,” Bakugo says, reaching for your hand as the fast vehicle comes to a screeching halt. Head turned left, he can’t see how your eyes have widened at the physical contact. His large hands envelope yours, gripping onto them tightly. Your heart races as you look up at him, and just as the door before you opens, you start to question this entire situation. Is this right?

Before the two of you can step on the train, an invisible barrier stops you as the lights turn red. “Show your tickets, please,” comes the robotic voice from the intercoms. 

“Oh yeah,” Bakugo breathes, pulling out his phone before glancing over at you. “You downloaded yer ticket, right?”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Hold on.”

The moment you find it, you hold it up to the barrier. The red light that was flashing turns green. “You may now aboard, Y/N Y/L/N.”

Shortly afterwards, Bakugo’s name is followed. The moment Bakugo gets inside, the doors shut. “Please have a seat.”

There's only two seats on the train, and they're both fixed in front of a small table. It's sorted for a date. Looking over at Bakugo, he's taken aback as well. You let out a snort, being the first one to move. "This is going to be fun," you giggle.

Taking a seat, you take in your surroundings. The walls are a dazzling pink with white tiles as accents. On every other tile, there's art on them— some only have names on it, others with cute amateur drawings on them. You can't help but coo in adoration.

"Please have a seat," the robotic voice sounds again, and it's then you realize that Bakugo has yet to sit down. He's fidgeting with his rolled up cuffs, refusing to make eye contact at you as he eyes the vacant chair.

"'Suki," you grow with concern. "Are you okay?"

Returning back to reality, Bakugo gulps and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he finally takes a seat. Clearing his throat, his eyebrows are pushed together as he glances at you.

"Yeah," he stammers. "I'm fine. I just— felt a bit lightheaded out of nowhere."

"Oh my gosh," you gasp. "Are you sure you're fine? The train hasn't moved yet, maybe we can get off somehow—"

The moment you try standing up, the train moves abruptly. Throwing you back in your seat, you knock your elbow on the table and wince. Crying out in pain, Bakugo's quick to reach for you, the concern now being thrown at you.

Growing steady in the train's movements, you rub your elbow to soothe the pain. "I—I'm fine," you fan off Bakugo's hand. "I was just caught by surprise."

"Please remain seated," the intercom speaks, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Could've fucking said something from before," Bakugo loudly says, disgruntled. 

Shaking off the pain, the two of you are finally left in silence. Not sure what to do now, you look over at your hulk of a friend. He dwarfs the seat he's in, his ruby red eyes dodging from place to place— anywhere else to avoid you. You're not a fool, your suspicions rising the more time goes on. 

"Katsuki," you call. "Tell me what's wrong. You've been acting like a weirdo since we got here."

"I, um—" This is his chance. This is his opportunity to just go for it and let you know exactly how he feels about you. If you tell him that you're not into him like that, he'll accept your answer. You two can spend the next four hours in complete silence and he'll deal with the agonizing pain of rejection. However, he's hoping for the best. Hoping that your eyes will light up and that you'll throw yourself on him, wrapping your arms around him and into a hug. Hoping that he'll get a taste of your plump lips and kiss you like he's always wanted to. 

And as he's reciting his fantasies, they fuel his confidence. Shoulders straightening and chest rising. Finally, his crimson eyes meet yours as he's determined. "Listen, Y/N, I didn't—"

His moment is stripped away from him by the intercom speakers and the sliding doors to the train car opening. 

"Activity One is about to start—" Out comes a cart being pushed by a human-sized robot. It stands tall, the pink thing of metal moving stiffly as it pushes the cart slowly. The metal-being is faceless, but its head moves and turns to view both you and Bakugo. Bakugo moves anxiously in his seat, upset for being interrupted. When the cart arrives, the robot comes to a full stop and removes the sheet covering the top contents. "Activity One is called Bracelet Making. During this hour, you will be making bracelets to give to one another. 

"The rules are simple," the voice over the intercom speaks. "You'll make a bracelet with colors of your choice, but the only rule is that you must put your name as a gift to one another at the end of the hour. It's also vital that no one speaks until spoken to. We will be providing questions for the two of you to answer along the way."

All the while the rules were being announced, a giant bowl of beads were securely placed on the table as well as a roll of elastic string provided. When everything’s placed, the robot exits the room, leaving you and Bakugo in solitude once more.

“This is stupid,” Bakugo grumbles. Glaring at him, you kick his feet. “Agh—”

“Sh!” you reprimand him before whispering, “they said you can’t talk.”

“But why not?” he frowns. “What’re they going to do?”

“Failure to adhere to our rules will result in a hefty bill being sent right after the trip,” the intercom announces. “For your own benefit, remain silent.”

You start to giggle, but shooting you a dirty look, Bakugo kicks your leg in retaliation. “Ow!” you burst in agony. “Why’d you do that?”

Bakugo simply lifts up a finger, throwing you a wink before reaching for the pack of elastic string. He reaches for your hand, but you instinctively pull it away. 

Gimme yer hand, he mouths.

For what? You narrow your eyes, forgetting about the task at hand.

Yer bracelet. When you mouth out an ‘oh,’ Bakugo beams in triumph as you finally give him your wrist without protesting. Dumbass, he lastly emits before snipping off the string. He holds out his wrist for you to measure, using his next hand to reach for the bowl of beads and shuffling through the huge pile. He wants to give you something that’ll remind you of him. Despite it having his name on it, every bit of it needs to speak him. 

Letting the beads run through his fingertips, he picks out a bunch of greens and oranges before stringing them on. In deep concentration, he doesn’t feel your eyes on him. You watch as he gnaws on his upper lip, the tip of his tongue poking out a bit. You huff out a bit of laughter before reaching for the bowl yourself and picking out your favorite colors. Just as the two of you get comfortable, stringing on beads and removing them, the intercom goes off once more.

“First question,” it begins. “When did the two of you first meet?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” you smile, looking up at Bakugo. He’s stopped what he’s doing, waiting for you to answer the question. “Our moms have known each other since forever, but my mom had moved away before coming back to Shizuoka, so we met at five years old. 

“My mom was looking for work, so while she did that, Momma Bakugo would watch over me.” All through telling the story, you had a smile on your face. Reminiscing the memory warmed your heart, falling into a comfort as you continued making the bracelet. Looking up at Bakugo, you scrunch your nose. “You didn’t like me that much when we first met.”

“Pfft— what?” Bakugo scoffs at your assumption. “I did not not like ya.”

“What did you first think of Y/N, Bakugo?”

“Um,” Bakugo stammers. What does he think of you? “Uh, I—”

“Why’re you getting so nervous?” you tease Bakugo, nudging his shoulder. “What was your first impression of me? Be honest.”

Getting a bit more relaxed, his shoulders fall. “Well, I never hated ya or anything… Just didn’t know who you were.”

“You refused to hang out with me,” you argued.

“Yeah, because I didn’t know ya!” Bakugo didn’t want to give too much away. Didn’t want to let you know that even at five years old, he felt butterflies in his tummy when he looked at you. That he was nervous to talk to you because he wondered if you’d find his toys lame. He never hated you. He was just… nervous.

“What do you think of her now?”

“What?” The bot repeats their question, making the blond-headed brute speechless. Mouth going dry, he meets your eyes. You’re wiggling your eyebrows teasingly as you wait for his answer. Your playful attitude calms him, reminding him that if he’s spent twenty-plus years hiding his emotions from you, he can do it for a few more hours. “I don’t know. Y/N’s my best friend. I trust her a lot and I’d do anything to protect her. I lo— I really care for her.”

“And what about you, Y/N?” Shifting attention to you, you light up. Your body tenses at the question. “What do you think about Bakugo now? Is he a good friend to you?”

“Bakugo’s a great friend,” you affirm. “He’s my best friend. I know that I can always call him whenever I’m in need. I can confide in him with things I can’t tell my mom. He’s always there for me and I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

The questions after that weren’t as intense as before, though they all seemed to be romantically-inclined. The two of you would always answer as vaguely as possible, trying not to say anything that sounded like more. The hour ran out and the two of you traded bracelets, along with a few more that you made with the extra string, Bakugo loved how his bracelet fit snug on him. Your name was fixed on his wrist, the colors of your choice sparkling in the bright train lights.

The bracelet he made for you fit perfectly as well, the green and orange didn’t go with your current attire, but it didn’t matter. Ogling your wrist, Bakugo felt like the two of you had branded each other in a way and left with a feeling of satisfaction.

The next task assigned was Number Art, where the two of you had to use the majority of the space just for the large sheet of poster paper. You two were given a cup of markers, one of every shade and a list of numbers one to one-hundred fifty. The two of you had decided to split it in half, you taking one to seventy-five and Bakugo with seventy-six to one-hundred fifty. The train operator offered to give the two of you an extra hour, but having to pay for the additional hours, but the two of you opted not to. 

Once again, the two of you were assigned to not talk and it was not a problem for this round. Both in concentration, you only spoke to answer the questions, none of them too thought provoking to take your eyes away from the paper. And within the hour, you both miraculously finished it.

When the time was up and you had five minutes to talk, you gasped as you realized that it was a picture of you two. “Bakugo,” you gasped. “Did you submit a picture of us to them?”

“What?” Bakugo asks. “No.”

Looking at the picture, it was a picture of the two of you at the beach. He remembers you propping up your phone on your water bottle, angled to perfectly to catch the two of you. Later that day, you posted the picture on Instagram. 

“I mean,” Bakugo shrugs. “It makes sense. Robots serve us on trains now.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Makes sense.”

The next activity isn’t much of an activity— Confessions over Dinner. You don’t take the name seriously. After all, the two of you have decided that this was just an opportunity for free food and drinks. Plus, the activities were fun. You were really enjoying your time. The robot server comes back out, pushing a cart with two covered dishes. Placing them in front of you, the server lifts up the covers, revealing your entree for the night. “Bon appetit.”

You have your favorite dish before you, a chicken and broccoli alfredo with a glass of strawberry lemonade. Bakugo has a plate of tteokbokki and a can of beer in front of him. He reaches for the can first, popping it open. He needs something to take him off the edge.

Swirling your fork in your plate, you’re in between chewing when the intercom goes off again. “Y/N, according to our database,” the bot starts. “Your ideal boyfriend is someone that’s big and strong— someone who regularly works out. They must be taller than you, nothing shorter than 6’3”. They must seem like they’re mean, but on the inside, they’re an absolute sweetheart and completely overprotective—”

Completely embarrassed, you can’t meet Bakugo in the eye. Dropping your fork, you look down at your plate as you let the bot keep going with their acclaimed list of boyfriend ideals that you have. And when they finish, they end it with, “Is this correct?”

It is. “Yes, but—”

“Doesn’t this closely resemble Bakugo Katsuki?” You stammer out an answer, momentarily meeting Bakugo’s eyes before darting anywhere else. Reaching for your wrist, you fumble with your bracelets. “Please answer the question.”

“Yes,” you mumble in defeat.

“And Bakugo, according to our database,” the bot then lists off Bakugo’s ideal girlfriend. Apparently, Bakugo wants a goddess— someone’s skin that sparkles, becoming golden in the sunlight. Who finds fun in his interest and even if not, is willing to learn about them. He wants someone that’s got such a warm and bubbly personality, and has such a beautiful smile. On and on the bot goes, where it lasts asks, “Is this correct?”

And unlike you, Bakugo doesn’t hesitate to say ‘yes.’ 

“Bakugo, do you want to take the initiative in confessing to Y/N?” The question finally has you looking up as Bakugo once again answers ‘yes.’ The service bot comes back out to collect your plates, clearing the area as Bakugo looks at you.

“Wh–What?” you ask in shock, lifting your head up to see Bakugo. The corner of your eyes threaten to spill a teardrop or two, but you quickly wipe them away. “What’s the robot talking about?”

“Uh, I don’t really know how to do this,” Bakugo rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve gone through this and tried planning my confession, but— I don’t know how people do this. Dammit! Y/N, we’ve known each other since we were still pissing our pants and I’ve always thought that this feeling in my chest was always just fondness for ya, but it’s not. Not saying that ‘m not fond of ya, but it’s different than that.

“Yer the prettiest thing that I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he admits. “The moment yer mom came to drop you off for the first time, I had felt something for you. Not that bullshit of you spoutin’ that I hate ya, it was just— Fuck, Y/N, I love you. More than fuckin’ friends. ‘Nd I get it if you never wanna talk to me ever again, but I just can’t keep lying to ya—”

“Katsuki,” you coo, more tears pricking the corner of your eyes. Your bottom lip quivers as you listen to his confession. You’ve always tried concealing your emotions for Bakugo, shoving them in the back of your mind in fear of breaking such a strong friendship. You’ve been living in such denial because of it. And now, he’s sitting across from you and confessing.

This entire day you’ve been a fool. Believing his lies and not seeing past his facade and anxious jitters. You should’ve known something was up the moment the two of you stepped on the train. However, because of your own nerves, you let it hinder what was right in front of you. 

“What?” Scratching at his biceps, his breathing starts to grow heavy. “It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way. Just let me off easy. I can handle it.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not that. I like— I love you, too. A lot. And I just— I just never thought that you’d like me back.”

Hearing those words fall from your ears should’ve been easy to handle. It’s what he’s been fantasizing about, but now he’s at a loss for words. Mouth falling open before he’s grinning from ear-to-ear. “Fuck, yes!”

Standing in his seat, he ignores the automated warning to remain seated. Instead, he reaches for you, practically hawling you out of your seat and pulling you into him. “I’ve been waiting for ya to say that for years.”

“And what if I said no?” You giggle teasingly.

“Well,” he sighs. “We’ll never find out.”

Cheesing widely, you envelope in a hug, but it’s no comparison to his squeezing grip around your waist. Pulling you into his seat, he inhales your scent, his nose in the crook of your neck. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”

“Me, too,” you whisper in his embrace. Pulling away, Bakugo’s forehead touches yours. You both can feel each other’s breath, such close proximity making the two of you be filled with a desire for each other. His lips ghost over yours, but before he can claim what’s rightfully his, he asks, “Can I kiss ya?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

Bakugo imagined what kissing you would be like. He figured that it would be sweet and tender. You’re a person of passion and it also shows how you fervently kiss him back, both yearning after each other. He pulls your hips closer to him, grounding you there as your nails dig into his shirt. The grip around your waist tightens, Bakugo needing you vehemently closer to him.

From his grasp, you involuntarily buck your hips, your crotch meeting his growing bulge. Your breathing shortens, nearly pulling away from embarrassment. However, it’s as though you’ve triggered something in Bakugo. His kiss deepens, hands starting to roam other realms and parts of your body. And soon, you grow unashamed of the way he pulls out these sounds from your lips, unashamed to grind your pelvis into him.

The palm of his hand reaches for the hem of your dress, fingers dancing around it as he makes it hike up your waist even more. Pulling away from the kiss, his eyes are hooded with lust and staring you down. “Is this fine?” he breathes, voice cracking towards the end. “Tell me to stop if you want me to— at any point of time.”

“No,” you shake your head. “Don’t want you to.”

And he eagerly pounces on you again, teeth tugging on the bottom of your lips as his hands glide against your bare skin. From the crevices of your thighs to your waist, to the supple feels of your breasts— he drags your dress off of you. He lets it fall against the table, ignoring how it slides down to the floor. Nearly bare in front of Bakugo, the artificial lights shining overhead. It makes you self-conscious as you instinctively cover your body with your arms. 

“Don’t hide yer body from me,” Bakugo breathes, slapping them away from your chest. “Yer fuckin’ beautiful, babe.”

“Take your clothes off, Bakugo,” you pout. “Wanna see you, too.”

He doesn’t hesitate to oblige, hoisting you onto the table before unbuttoning his top to only rip it off as the buttons fly as a result of his impatience. His bare chest glimmers in the light, swollen chest and prominent abs to show his dedication to the gym. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but not under this predicament. Your hands run across the chest, feeling the heat of his skin on you. And Bakugo watches you, enjoying your touch. Unbuckling his belt, he pulls his pants down and let it pool at his ankles when he feels your thumb prod at his nipples. He hisses, body jolting from the shock. 

“Shit,” he curses. Retracting your hands, you look at Bakugo with concern. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Bakugo chuckles at your response, pulling you for another kiss. 

“No,” he grins. “Just don’t want to cum when we’ve barely begun.”

 You start to giggle. “Didn’t expect you to be the type to like your titties being touched.”

“Please don’t call them titties,” Bakugo grimaces, before sitting back down and pulling you with him. Bakugo sucks up all of your breath, hand sliding in between your thighs and pressing down on your clit. Your hips buck into him, your sweet mewls egging him on as his lips leave yours and down to your neck. He sucks onto your skin, teeth grazing to give you love bites before sealing them with reassuring kisses. 

“‘Suki,” you moan, eyes shut as he applies more pressure to your nub. Bakugo groans against your skin, adoring the sounds that leave your lips. Your hands wander up his chest, your fingers planting over his nipples once more. Against your thigh, you can feel the twitch of his cock against you. Bakugo curses against your neck. Tugging at the crotch of your underwear, he pulls them to the side.

“Two can play at that game if ya want,” he breathes against your skin. Precum stains his boxer briefs as you keep tantalizing him. Simultaneously, his thumb draws circles to your clit as his index and middle finger dance in between your folds. Not getting what you want, you push further against him, searching for friction. 

Your forehead connects with his, fuelling each other’s desires with the grunts that Bakugo shares with you as your moans are his melody. 

He wasn’t joking when he said he nearly came from the stimulation to his nipples. The more your hands pull and tug at the erect pebbles, the harder it is to keep it in. Not wanting to release prematurely, he abruptly sits you back on the table and brings himself to stand. You gasp in shock, eyes widening as you barely take a moment to process anything. 

Bakugo’s already got his cock out, underwear down to the middle of his thighs. So big and heavy, it falls. Your eyes widen, glossing up at the sight. “Katsuki, you’re so big,” you mewl. He’s circumcised, but has monstrous girth. The pink tip contrasts with his khaki-colored and veiny shaft. Reddened from the neglect, the way Bakugo grips it is mouthwatering. 

“But, you can take it, right?” And you eagerly nod in response, taking not even a second to think about it. “Anything for you.”

“Fuck,” he curses, leaning into you as he aligns his cock with your folds. “I love you so much.”

His cock lubricates itself in your slick, sliding his length in between your folds. You start to whine, wanting more from him. You’re nothing but a greedy fiend, wanting your best friend to fill you up with his cock. “‘Suki,” you pout, eyes glossing with tears threatening to spill. “Want you inside me.”

“Not yet,” he huffs. “Don’t think y’deserve it.”

“What d’y’mean?” you whine, voice turning high-pitched. “Want y’in me so bad.”

“Aw,” Bakugo coos. “Do ya turn into a desperate slut when you don’t have cock in ya? It’s cute.”

Chuckling, Bakugo gives you a peck on your lips. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get what y’want. Just gotta claim this beautiful body of yours first, m’kay?”

“Okay,” you nod, finally obliging. Pumping his cock in between your lips, Bakugo plants his knee against the table for more leverage. Pulling you against his chest, you pant against his chest. Tongue lolling out, you taste the salt of him. It quickly conjures the idea of finding his nipple, lips wrapping around the bud as your next hand grabs his chest. Experiencing how much it affects Bakugo, you hear his breathing stammer as his rhythm falters for a second before gaining back the momentum. 

“Y-ya just want to ruin me,” Bakugo pants before his cock twitches in between your lips, his seed squirting your chest sporadically. Spilling in thick loads, Bakugo pushes your body to lie down on the table and finish on you. The sight he sees is one made from heaven, your brown skin painted in his milky white seed. He reaches to play in his own seed, spreading it across your body to then write his name into you. “Ya look so pretty like this, baby. I’ve officially claimed ya as my own.”

“Were the bracelets not enough?” you jest with heavy breaths. He chuckles, shaking his head. 

“No—” Cock still hard and begging for more, he grabs the base of it, finally aligning it with your entrance. “—think this pussy can handle my cock?”

“If I can handle you for most of my life,” you smirk. “I think I can handle your appendage.”

At that, Bakugo pushes said appendage inside, the tip making space for his intrusion. He swallows your whines and whimpers with a kiss, his chest touching his sticky mess against yours. In a swift movement, his entire length is inside you. Moaning against his lips, you nod to let Bakugo know it’s fine to move. 

“Activity three is now over—” The intercom speaks overhead, startling the two of you as Bakugo sets a steady pace. “ —And in approximately five minutes, we’ll start Activity Four.”

“Fuck,” he pants, looking you in the eye. “Want to stop?”

Immediately shaking your head, you tell him no. “Let’s just keep going.”

“Think I can make ya cum in the next five minutes?” he smirks. 

“I’d like to see you try,” you challenge him. To which he accepts, his pace accelerating and becoming brutal with his thrusts. Back arching in his hold, your head falls back. Hoisting your leg over his shoulder, it opens a deeper cavern inside you as he starts hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. 

“Fuck!” You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as your pussy clenches around his length. “‘Suki—”

“Say it,” a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Say it. Yer gonna cum.”

Grinding against his length, your mouth falls agape. An ‘O’ forming on your lips as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Holding onto Bakugo, your grip is tight as you let out a high-pitched moan. “I’m—” you cry. “‘M gonna cum.”

The clutch of your pussy calls for another orgasm from Bakugo as well, feeling how your pussy hugs around his cock. Your release forms a ring around the base of his cock, any further excess dripping down on the table. He keeps going, chasing his high to quickly release into you. Letting out a guttural moan, his chest falls into you. His cock softens, falling out as he watches the pleasurable sight of his seed dripping and messing the floor. 

Feeling the rise and fall of your chest, Bakugo plants soft kisses as two fingers gather to collect the mixture of both of your orgasms. Fingers plunging into you, you whimper at the overstimulation. “Katsuki—”

“Activity Four is about to start—” Removing his fingers, Bakugo climbs off you as the doors open. Helping you down, he reaches for your discarded clothes. Both of you put back on your clothes as the service bots arrive with a clay tile and some markers. “This is the last activity for the evening. We value the time you both spent with us and want to keep a piece of you. During the rest of the hour, you are free to converse among yourself. Your leftover food will be given to you at the end. Thank you for riding on the Love Train! Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Finishing the tile with a gigantic — and horribly drawn heart on Bakugo’s behalf— with your initials written in the middle, you hand it over to the service bot when the train finally comes to a stop. Grabbing your to-go containers, Bakugo offers his hand when the two of you reach the door. Jokingly, you grin. “What? Do you think you’re my boyfriend or something now?”

“I’d hope so,” he snorts, grabbing your hand as you both exit. “Then I invited the wrong girl onto the Love Train with me.”

Stopping, you take hold of his next hand. Looking him in the eye, you smile from ear-to-ear. “Thank you so much, ‘Suki,” you beam. “I’ve always thought my feelings for you were one sided. Glad to know they’re not.”

“Feels so nice to finally have the girl of my dreams,” he smiles. “I can’t wait to take ya out on a real date.”

Scrunching your nose, you reach up to kiss him. “I know you’ll make me the happiest girl.”

THE END.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ! i haven't written for bakugo in a hot ass minute so please let me know what you think about this in the comments. mwah mwah! i appreciate y'all!

CREDITS ! thank you @todorosie for taking time to beta reading this. love you mucho, baby girl. 🫶🏾

🧸. @acehyacinth, @dgrymn, @kiarathace, @titantears, @shoyosdoll, @reveusecherie, @sanaguru, @prettypink-princesss, @king-dynamight, @manexterr, @venteeni

— saccharine boy

pairing : reader x jeon jungkook

summary : the new transfer student is a bit strange…

genre : yandere jk, future smut, angst, dark, obsessive/possessive jk

warnings : this includes DARK themes with heavy topics. i dont support this unhealthy relationship dynamic irl. a huge TW for suicide, suicidal thoughts, tendencies, coaxing, themes. this is pure fiction so please know that if you’re struggling with suicidal thoughts, this may be really really horrible to read :(( yn and jk both say shitty things

part 1 of ??

☽

i loved you before i even knew you

in days fleeting moments, the sun dipped into the ocean, casting a surge of honey waves to engulf the city whole.

it’s vast, golden essence poured through the mid-open windows and into the empty school hallways.

moments before, the laughter of the baseball team dissipated, and those who confessed to the whim of spring filtered emotions had left with tear stained cheeks.

it's empty enough that you can hear your own slip ons click against the floor.

click, click, click.

you walk up the stairs, stopping right in front of the rooftop door.

the rusted knob is cool under your skin, and bracing yourself for the wind, you twist it open.

the wind whisks past you ferociously, as if urging you to turn back. you should've heeded the warning then (how foolish of you not to), but instead, you open your eyes to the tangerine streaks of the sky.

that’s when you see him.

— ❝ hey, do you regret it? ❞

his silhouette wavered beyond the metal railings of the rooftop.

you don’t know why—what had possibly gone through your mind when you spoke. it wasn't your business—you could honestly care less for people like him,

because people like him were the same as you.

despite that, you couldn't stop yourself from screaming, "you're such an attention freak, you know that?! do you really want to be seen that much?"

his head slightly lifted.

would he listen to you? would he care?

because if it were you past that railing right now, you wouldn't stop for anyone.

but doesn’t he see?

if he jumps, right now, right in front of you,

doesn’t he know how much that would break you?

please, the wind swallows your desperation. i’m already broken enough, so please don't make it any worse.

when i muster up the courage like you someday, i need to die without the thought of you jumping in my head.

— ❝ oh, i see… you're scared of me.❞

"there are so many other ways to kill yourself. drowning, the rope—you can jump off literally any other god damned building for all i care—but don't you dare make it this building! don't you dare jump off in front of me."

you saw it, as the wind danced past him, just how lifeless his eyes were

it was as if the sun himself feared him—preferring to quickly drown into the blue abyss rather than be in his mere presence.

"i know this place is terrible—but the janitor is so kind. he's a single father of three children and if you jump, he'd have to break his back scrubbing your blood for hours. he'd come home and put on a happy face despite worrying if his children will turn out like you. so please, for the janitor's sake, deal with haunting this school a different way. your death would affect more people than you’d know, so please.”

he doesn’t move, so hesitantly, as if it would change anything, you quietly add, "ah, he gave me food one time too.”

the boy’s back quivered, and your own trembling heart ached for him—but what you thought was sniffing turned into a loud, hearty laugh

you stood there, dumbfounded as you watched him.

"you're..." he tries to say through his giggles. when he catches his breath, he finally turns to you with the biggest smile.

"you're really stupid."

— ❝ but would it help if i said i've always loved you? ❞

frozen, you can only stand there gaping at him.

"i was just watching the sunset, but your reaction was so funny. you don't know how hard it was not to laugh."

what…?

you blink once, twice—then turning your heel, you begin to walk away.

"h-hey! wait!" he called from beyond the railings. "i'm sorry, okay? i was having too much fun—i didn't mean to scare you. please forgive me."

"scare me?" you scoffed. "kill yourself for all i care. it doesn't have anything to do with me."

— ❝ since that day... ❞

you just blurted it out of spite. you knew it was cruel, you didn’t mean it. you were just so angry. how dare he make a fool out of you? make a joke out of this? in your eyes, he was far more cruel.

“fine then.”

you turn back with a vile glare, but your heart stops as he takes a step back.

the boy hums in viscous amusement when he sees the horror in your eyes. in front of the blazing red of the sun, wearing his wide smile, he resembled a demon.

"forgive me, or i'll let go."

"d-don’t be stupid," you scowl, but you could barely feel yourself breathe.

then, just like that, one of his finger tips leave the metal bar—then another, and another.

you don’t know when you started running or how you even got there, but as soon as you hooked your fingers around his collar, you gave everything to pull him back.

"are you crazy?!" you scream, hot tears trickling down your eyes.

his annoying fit of laughter only angered you more.

— ❝ i loved you before i even knew you. ❞

"like i said, forgive me—and i won't try it again," he chimed in a playful tone.

you couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

it scared you, his carelessness.

he scared you.

“okay, okay! i forgive you!” you yell exasperatedly. “god, you—you think this is funny? what the fuck is wrong with you?! you could’ve—just because i—y-you could’ve…r-right in front of me…and i-i…”

"hey, hey..." he chuckles softly, interlocking his fingers with yours through the metal fence.

you refused to look at him, but you could still feel the tingling warmth of his skin. you were close, the bars only stopping at your torso. when you look back at it, you remembered the seeping reality of his beauty.

his voice, his touch, him...

everything he did made you feel so out of control, so vulnerable.

who was he? why did you have to meet him?

"i knew you'd catch me, its fine."

"that's not the point here you suicidal bitch! i mean—what were you thinking? are you out of your mind? i swear to god—if you jumped and i became a suspect of murder, i'd dig up your own grave and kill you again!”

the boy’s eyes widened, shock dancing with his own bemusement. they were the same lifeless brown, but golden specks glimmered in where he looked at you.

finally, he smiles, “you’re horrible.”

you give a viscious glare, but before you can retort something, he continues, his hand trailing up your arm.

"but at the same time, horrible people don’t try to save a horrible person from dying. no, you can’t be horrible,” a cold shiver runs through your body when his fingers brush against your collarbone. “you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you? an angel who saved me…”

he pulls you closer by your neck, his lips barely touching the shell of your ears. your breath hitches, and your knees suddenly feel weak.

“i’d love to ruin you.”

nothing comes out of your mouth.

all you can hear is your heart thumping against your chest. all you can feel is the unbearable heat blooming on your cheeks, and all you can see is him.

finally, his words settle in.

“get the fuck off me you creep!”

— ❝ you're never leaving me, my love. i won't let you. ❞

ː

a/n : i’m so so so sorry if this triggered some people. this may be poorly written as well as i’ve written this YEARS ago. as you might tell, i was suicidal then and i often incorporated that in writing—its a way to get it off my chest sort of. to have relatable characters is something thats always made me comfortable. honestly rereading it again nothing makes sense LOL but i thought i’d continue it just for fun. i hope whoever has come across this is having a lovely and healing day, stay safe starlights <3