just an anime kpop superhero girly

“Faster?” he asked, voice low and rough against your ear, lips brushing the shell of it. Water droplets clung to his long dark hair, some of it plastered to his neck and shoulders. He wore nothing but black swim trunks that sat low on his hips, and you could feel every shift of his abs as he leaned into the next turn.

You nodded, gripping the handlebars tighter. The speed pressed you back harder into him, your bikini top doing little to hide how your nipples had already tightened from the cool wind and the heat of his body. His hand on your waist slid lower, fingers splaying over the soft skin just above your bikini bottoms.

“Been thinking about this since we rented the damn thing,” he muttered. The jetski cut through a small wave, bouncing you both. His palm pressed between your thighs, rubbing slow and deliberate over the thin fabric. “You, dripping wet, ass right here against me.”

You gasped as two of his fingers pushed the bikini aside and slid along your folds. The machine kept surging forward, engine vibrating up through the seat and straight into your core. Geto circled your clit with practiced ease, not gentle—never gentle when he got like this.

“Suguru—” you started, but he curled his fingers and pushed one inside you, the stretch immediate and slick.

“Stay still,” he ordered, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Don’t want to flip us.”

The risk made it hotter. The open water, bright daylight, anyone on a distant yacht possibly watching. His finger pumped in and out, thumb working your clit in tight circles while the jetski flew over the surface. Your thighs trembled, hips grinding back against his growing erection trapped between you.

He added a second finger, scissoring them, stretching you open. The wet sounds were almost lost under the roar of the engine and the slap of water. Your head fell back against his chest, mouth open in a moan that the wind stole away.

“Greedy today,” he laughed darkly, curling those fingers against the spot that made your vision spark. “Already soaking my hand. You like being out here like this? My dirty little slut on display?”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” you managed, clenching around his fingers.

He pulled them out abruptly, leaving you empty and throbbing. You whined, but he was already slowing the jetski, guiding it toward a small rocky inlet half-hidden by overhanging cliffs. The water calmed as you entered the sheltered cove, turquoise and clear enough to see the sandy bottom.

Geto killed the engine. The sudden quiet was filled only by lapping waves and your heavy breathing. He spun you around on the seat so you faced him, legs spread over his thighs. His cock strained hard against his trunks, the thick outline obvious.

“Take it out,” he said.

You didn’t hesitate. You tugged the waistband down, freeing his heavy cock. It slapped against his abs, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. You wrapped your hand around the base and stroked once, twice, watching his jaw clench.

Geto grabbed your hips and yanked you closer until your bikini bottoms rubbed against his length. “Off. Now.”

You lifted enough for him to peel the soaked fabric down your legs. He tossed it somewhere behind him on the jetski. Then his hands were on your ass, spreading you as he lined up.

He thrust up at the same time he pulled you down, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke. The fullness punched the air from your lungs. You were so wet he slid in easy, but he was thick—always so fucking thick—and the angle had him pressing right against that perfect spot.

“Shit,” he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “So tight. Always so fucking tight for me.”

He started moving, hands guiding your hips in a hard rhythm. The jetski rocked beneath you with every thrust, water sloshing against the sides. Your tits bounced in the tiny bikini top until he yanked it down, mouth latching onto one nipple. He sucked hard, teeth scraping, while his cock drove deep again and again.

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into sun-warmed skin. Every thrust made wet, obscene sounds between your bodies. His balls slapped against your ass. The sun beat down, sweat mixing with sea spray on your skin.

“Harder,” you gasped.

Geto growled and obliged, fucking up into you with punishing snaps of his hips. One hand left your ass to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back so he could bite down the column of your throat.

“Look at you,” he panted between thrusts. “Riding my cock out in the open like you don’t care who sees. You want them to watch me ruin this pussy?”

The dirty words sent heat spiraling through you. You clenched around him, and he cursed, pace faltering for a second before he doubled down. The stretch, the drag of his cock, the way his pelvis ground against your clit on every downstroke—it was too much.

You came suddenly, thighs shaking, a broken moan tearing from your throat. Geto fucked you through it, drawing it out until you were whimpering, oversensitive.

He didn’t stop. He lifted you off him, ignoring your protest, and turned you around again so your back was to his chest. This time he bent you forward over the handlebars, ass up. He slammed back in from behind, even deeper now.

“Again,” he demanded, one hand reaching around to rub your swollen clit. “Come on my cock again. I want to feel it.”

The new angle had you seeing stars. His thrusts were relentless, hips snapping, balls slapping loudly. Your second orgasm built fast, brutal. You pushed back to meet him, chasing it, and when it hit you screamed his name, body locking up tight around him.

Geto groaned loud, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you. Thick pulses of cum flooded your pussy, leaking out around his cock with every shallow thrust as he rode it out.

For a moment you both just panted, his arms wrapped around you, cock still twitching inside. The gentle rocking of the jetski felt soothing now.

But Geto wasn’t done.

He pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip from your used hole into the clear water. Then he sat back on the seat and tugged you down onto his lap again, facing him.

“Ride me,” he said, voice still husky. “Slow this time. I want to watch your face while you take every inch.”

You sank back down onto his half-hard cock, feeling him thicken again inside you. The stretch was deliciously filthy now that you were full of his load. You rolled your hips, grinding more than bouncing, savoring the way he filled you.

Geto’s hands roamed—squeezing your tits, pinching your nipples, sliding down to grip your ass and spread you wider so he could watch himself disappear inside you. The sun glinted off the water, warming your skin, and the distant sound of waves against the cliffs made everything feel lazy and endless.

You leaned in and kissed him, deep and messy, tongues sliding together as you kept riding. He tasted like salt and summer. His fingers found your clit again, stroking lazy circles that had you whimpering into his mouth.

“Gonna fill you up again before we head back,” he murmured against your lips. “Want you dripping my cum down your thighs the whole ride home.”

You moaned, picking up the pace, bouncing properly now. The wet squelch of his cum and your arousal echoed in the little cove. Geto’s grip on your hips tightened, helping you slam down harder.

“Fuck—right there,” he groaned when you clenched around him. His head tipped back, dark hair sticking to his forehead, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

You rode him until your thighs burned, until another orgasm crashed over you, weaker this time but longer, pulsing around his cock. He followed right after, pumping another load deep inside with a low, satisfied growl.

This time when you collapsed against his chest, he held you there, stroking your back. The jetski drifted slowly in the calm water. Sunlight danced across the surface, and for a while neither of you spoke, just breathing together, skin sticky with sweat and salt and sex.

Eventually he kissed the top of your head. “Ready to head back? Or you want me to bend you over those rocks first?”

it’s not age — the reason his cock protests any acceptance of arousal — it’s the job; what it’s done and taken and twisted.

and where there was a time he was content to kiss and touch and slide his fingers inside a wet pair of panties, the last time he did so, the girl was reduced to tears when he didn’t harden for her. the memory of it still sits sour in the back of his throat — her mascara gone to ruin, the apology he hadn’t known how to shape.

so john has rules now. flirt, finish the pint, leave before anyone’s hand wanders south. keep it to the part he can still manage — the looking, the wanting, the slow honey of a woman leaning in close.

but you.

you’d slid into the booth beside him an hour ago and now you’re halfway across him, knee planted in the cushion by his hip, breath warm and cranberry-sweet against his jaw. your fingers are buried in his beard. your mouth finds the corner of his, asking.

“c’mere,” you murmur, and he does — god help him.

he kisses you because kissing he can do. kisses you like it’ll be enough, like if he keeps your mouth busy you won’t go looking for more (as if that’s ever been a thing. he’s just not ready to leave you yet). his hand spans the dip of your waist, the bend in your spine, the heat of you through your jeans, and you make a sound into his mouth, small and pleased, that makes his pulse trip.

then your hand drops.

he feels it coming before it lands, the path of it down his stomach telling him exactly where it’s bound, and for a beat he thinks about catching your wrist. lying. blaming the beer. instead he lets you press your palm flat to him and…nothing.

you stroke him through his trousers, slow, and his cock gives you nothing back. no twitch. no rise. just soft flesh where there ought to be a swelled heat.

he braces himself. shoulders tight, jaw set, eyes fixed somewhere past you on the bottles glinting behind the bar. here it comes — the pause, the slow dawning, and then the pity, or the hurt, or whatever humiliating awful thing you’ll do with your face before you decide how to leave.

but you don’t pull back, don’t go stiff or cold. you just keep it there. and when he finally makes himself look at you again, you’re not wearing a single one of the faces he’d readied himself for.

“hey,” you say, soft. your fingers smooth a slow line up his chest. “we don’t have to. sorry if i got ahead of myself…”

something in his chest pulls taut. “you don’t—,” he starts and stops, clears his throat. “s’not you.”

“it’s okay.” and the worst of it, the part that nearly takes him out at the knees, is that you mean it.

you’ve left him nowhere to hide it. “i can still—,” his hand flexes at your waist, drops lower, thumb hooking the seam of your jeans like proof of intent. “you. i can get you there. whatever you want.” a muscle ticks beside his eye. “just won’t happen for me. that’s all.”

you tilt your head. consider him. and then your mouth curves, slow and a little wicked at the edge. “that doesn’t seem very fair.”

“fair’s got nothing to do with it, love.”

“mm.” your thumb moves against his collarbone, idle. “still.”

you’re looking at him like the wanting is the whole of it. like he’s enough. “i’m not going anywhere unless you ask me to.”

and christ — what he hasn’t got a defense for is this: you settling deeper into his lap with no agenda at all, tucking your face into his throat like you’ve got all night and nowhere better to spend it. his arms come around you.

“i won’t ask, then,” he says into your hair.

“good.” you press a kiss below his ear. “now buy me another drink, old man.”

Price gave a little nod, exhaling the smoke from his cigar. "I could use a drink."

"What about you, L.T? Y/N? Fancy a drink?" Soap asked the pair, who sat next to each other. 

The big, burly Brit gave a low hum which to anyone who didn't know him would've thought that was a clear no, but Soap laughed and Y/N smiled. "I say that's a yes."

He looked to Y/N, "That only leaves you, lass."

Y/N shook her head, waving a hand to brush off his proposal. "I think I'll pass." Ghost turned his head to look down at her.

"Oh come on." Gaz complained in the back while Soap crossed his arms. 

"What do ya got to get back at base to that's so important that ya wouldn't want to go with us?" Soap argued, his voice laced with playful intent. 

She snickered. "Take a shower for one."

"Are ya serious?" Soap huffed. 

"Look, I know you might like walking around like a human dust cloud but I can feel the dirt in places I'd rather not mention."  Y/N teased, and smirked his way.

She glanced over to Gaz who had let out a small laugh, which made her laugh quietly to herself. 

Soap leaned forward, "Come on, we don't need another ghost disappearin on us."

Y/N shook her head, "I'm not disappearing on anybody."

"Then come with us." Soap continued to prod.

The two stared at each other for a long moment before Y/N sighed and threw her arms in the air in mock annoyance. "Fine, I guess I'll come but only if I can change first." 

"Deal." Soap grinned as he held out a fist toward Y/N. She lifted a fist of her own, and bumped it against Soap's then leaned back in her spot in the plane.

Soon, the team made it back to base, filtering off the carrier plane one by one, and chatting amongst themselves. Price came off the plane first, followed shortly by Soap and Gaz then Ghost and Y/N. It was already dark out, the fluorescent lights from inside the base beaming out and onto the concrete floor that made up the helipad. 

Once stepping inside, Y/N departed from the men, reassuring Soap that she would meet them in the parking lot once she changed out of her uniform. She b-lined for her room, locking the door behind her and heaving a sigh, letting her shoulders relax and allowing herself a moment to herself. Even though she agreed to go out with the guys, Y/N was utterly exhausted; it seemed to take great effort just to breathe. It was as if her lungs were beyond their limit and wanted to rest. 

But Simon was going out too, while not rare, he never went out consistently. More often than not, he opted to stay behind and get some sleep. There were also occasions when he and Y/N would make tea in the break room and talk about everything and nothing in the lulling moments when the base was quiet. 

She loved those moments, appreciating the fact that on their off time, Simon liked to share his time with her. As much as she loved the guys, Simon provided an unknown incentive to go to the bar.

Y/N sighed, trudging over to her cot to undress. She traded her grimy uniform for a pair of clean jeans, a white tank top, and her typical combat boots. However, it was a bit cold outside so she decided to grab a hoodie. Her eyes immediately found the one that she kept folded at the end of her bed. 

It was a standard black hoodie, no flashy design or words, a simple color with nothing else. This hoodie was special though as it belonged to a certain 6'2" Lieutenant.

Y/N smiled to herself as she grabbed it and pulled it over her head. It hung loose on her body, the hem of it touching her mid thigh and the sleeves engulfed her arms but she felt safe in it., protected. She couldn't help to thumb at the fabric of the collar, thinking for a second before she dipped her nose down to breathe in the smell of it. 

Despite having worn the hoodie multiple times (mostly when she slept), the musky scent of Simon lingered there. It smelled of an earthy cologne that Simon wore, smoke with a twinge of metal.  She hummed at the scent, but before she got too caught up in her own mind, she grabbed her phone, wallet, and headed out to the parking lot. 

Y/N knew exactly where Soap parked his truck so she made a b-line straight for it, not too far from the front doors of the base. Walking out into the parking lot, she saw that the guys were already standing and waiting by the black pickup. 

Soap was the first one to see, and as soon as he did, his eyes widened. "Jesus, lass! You look like yer gettin swallowed whole inside that thing!" 

Simon whipped his head around to see what the commotion was about, his heart skipping a beat when he got a good look at Y/N, wearing his hoodie. 

Y/N felt the slightest bit sheepish at Soap's comment, but tried not to let it show. "I do not." She retorted, "It's windy out here and I'm cold." 

She walked past Soap to head towards Simon who stood beside the backdoor. Before she got in she glanced over her shoulder at the Scot. "Besides, I like'em big."

For a brief second, Y/N's eyes flicked from Soap to narrow in on Simon as she said that, picking up at the quick breath he took and held it in. She smirked then quickly climbed into the back seat. 

Simon briefly locked eyes with Soap, seeing a boyish smirk on the Sergeant's face. He huffed, then followed Y/N into the truck. 

He knew he shouldn't have let it slip to Johnny about his "admiration" for Y/N or else he wouldn't have that shit eating grin on his face.

Soap only laughed before climbing into his truck. Price sat up front with him while Simon, Y/N and Gaz sat in the back. It was a tad of a squeeze (mostly due to Simon's large stature), but it wasn't so bad. Though Gaz was the second to gawk at Y/N's ginormous hoodie, and she laughed saying that the bigger the hoodie, the more comfortable to which he then asked the rhetorical question of 'what is it with girls and hoodies?'

The team laughed, Simon on the other hand, kept peeking down at Y/N seeing her completely covered by the black fabric, remembering the night he gave it to her. It had been a night of hushed conversation, a shared moment of privacy among the chilled air, and as she shivered in her spot beside him, he took only a second to stop and pull off his sweatshirt then plop it in her lap. 

She had been stunned, it was evident from the look she gave, but she wasted no time pulling the fabric over her head. Once it engulfed her figure, she let out a relieved hum, a smile and tucked her face into the collar of it. 

Simon loved the way it hung around her, like she belonged inside of it. 

On any given day, Simon would not have done something that was clearly so intimate to him, but this was a moment that Y/N and him shared alone, without the eyes of anyone on base. However, seeing Y/N wearing it now with everyone to see felt scandalous, if he had to label it; a deeper peek into his psyche.

He couldn’t decide if he liked that or not. 

The sharp pause of the vehicle into a parking spot, provided Simon an escape from the suddenly hot air of the truck as he hopped out. Once everyone stepped out, following Soap, they all headed toward the bar. It was a small, modest place, nothing fancy but it would keep them busy for the next few hours. Soap walked up to the bars' counter to sit down, followed by all of 141.

Y/N sat beside Soap, who was already ordering a drink, and Simon came up to the empty seat to the right of Y/N with Price and Gaz sitting closer to Soap.

“Keep the drinks to a minimum, would you Soap? Last time you got drunk, we had to drag you back to the base.” Y/N pointedly suggested.

Soap scoffed, “Oi, are you my mother? I can handle myself.”

At that, Y/N let out an amused laugh coming from the gut. “No you can’t. You were so out of it that you thought you were being kidnapped when we hoisted you up into Price’s truck.” 

Soap paused for a moment, eyes drifting upward as if he were searching through his memories of that night. “I don’t remember that.”

“You wouldn’t remember, mate.” Gaz chirped in, “You’d put a sailor to shame with as much drink as you had.”

“More like the whole ship.” Price added with a huffed smirk and then took a drink of his whiskey. 

Y/N readjusted in her seat as she turned to slightly face the Scot, “I had to keep Ghost from killing you; you’d kicked him right in the ribs and you better believe you owe me.”

“Ah, Ghost woulda’ kill me. He’s too fond of my daring personality.” Soap teased, leaning forward to peer around Y/N to look at Simon. 

“Don’t count yourself lucky, Johnny. A kick to the ribs makes a compelling argument for killin’ ya.” Simon simply stated, thick accent and husky voice making him sound serious. 

Y/N chuckled to herself however at his obvious banter, taking a sip of her drink. 

A loud pfft sound left Soap’s mouth, waving off Simon’s words and swallowing his bourbon down in one go. 

Soap set his glass down onto the bar with a thud before he spoke again. “And of course, the only thing that could stop the giant was the fluttering eyes of our lass here.”

If she was honest with herself, that very idea made Y/N’s heart flutter and unconsciously, she bit her bottom lip, sparing a subtle glance up to Simon. His dark eyes glowed in the ambient light of the bar, casting a shadowed glare toward the Scot in an oddly defensive way.

He said nothing, but he didn’t have to. His expression said it all. 

“Aww, don’t get bent out of shape LT. No man could resist such beauty.” Soap holds up his hands in fake surrender.

“Shove off, Soap.” Y/N playfully pushed the Scot at the same time he slipped off his bar stool.

“Anyone want to play a round of pool?” Soap offered, taking a step back from Y/N’s strong left hook.

Gaz nodded, quickly finishing his drink and ordering another. “I’m in.”

“I suppose I could weigh in.” Price says, slipping out of his seat and following Soap and Gaz to the empty pool table off to the corner. 

Y/N leaves no time for Simon to give a definitive answer while she hops off her bar stool, leaving her cup behind. “May as well. You coming, Simon?”

She glances over her shoulder and It’s obvious that he is caught off-guard, making a great effort to look unaffected. However, he hums and gets up from his seat. 

He seems to automatically trail behind Y/N in her path to the pool table, where the rest of the team is waiting. 

“You and LT are a team; Gaz and I are a team. Alright with you two?” Soap automatically assigns, watching Y/N shrug. 

“Sounds good to me.” Y/N smirked, already picking up a pool cue.

While Soap and Gaz grab their own pool cues, Y/N takes this opportunity to let her hair (literally), pulling the hair band from the tight bun she had it in and letting the tresses fall to her shoulders. 

Simon watches as the thick strands fall from the bun, and lightly bounce once they hit her shoulders and back. The cool air of the bar wafting from outside, breezes past Y/N and into Simon; there’s a scent of gunpowder with an underlying smell of a fruity soap from her shampoo. 

Those two types of scents don’t belong, Simon thinks, however, he cannot deny that it suits Y/N in an odd way and he takes a moment to commit it to memory. 

“Woah, Y/N…” Gaz comments, looking up from the pool table. 

Soap whips his head up from aligning the cue ball with the solid and striped ones. “How the hell do you keep all that wrapped up?” 

“I’m just magic like that.” Y/N smirks, running her fingers through her hair to massage the soreness on her scalp. 

“Teach me your magic?” Gaz teases Y/N as he steps over to her. 

She hums, “I don’t know Gaz, you actually have hair in order to learn my ways.”

The group laughs as Gaz nudges her away from him, all in good fun of course. 

She takes the opportunity to spare a glance up to Simon, seeing that he is staring down at her with a shine in his eyes that tells her only the good things about what he must be thinking. Before he catches it, she smirks and turns back to the others to begin their game. 

From that moment on, for the rest of the evening, the tension grew with each passing second. Only ripening, the few times during their pool match, when Y/N leaned down to shoot her shot, and she would slide back to stand straight up, there Simon would be; looming shadow over her while keeping a respectful distance. 

It was all palpable in a way that only Y/N and Simon knew, but not bursting at the seams. No, it was slowly simmering, waiting for the right opportunity to be released. 

By the time the night ended, the boys buzzed and chipper, the squad made it back to base with little to no problems, from Soap that is who made it apparent that he was perfectly consciousness.

It got a laugh out of them, as Simon and Y/N departed and were finally alone.

They were heading to their respective rooms, the heavy thud of their boots hitting the ground, the only sound between them as they walked down a long corridor. It remained that way until Y/N broke the silence.

“Did you have fun, Simon?” 

He looked to her from the invisible spot on the ground that he’d been watching, “As much fun as I could, I suppose.”

“Me too. It’s nice to relax every once in a while.” She hums contently. 

“I imagine it’s not difficult to relax when you have a sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big.” Simon remarks, hearing Y/N laugh as he does. 

“You have a point there!” 

There’s a brief pause before Simon speaks up again, “Do you fancy wearing clothes that swallow you whole?”

She stops in her path, suddenly standing in front of her room door, one that Simon almost missed as he came to an abrupt stop. “Only when I’m attached to it.”

They stand and stare, soaking in the implications, and reveling in the secret between them. 

Simon, in a moment of courage he’s not sure where it came from, raises a calloused hand to gently slide his index finger against the skin of her cheek. “Well, I’d say it suits you.”

Y/N smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges in a softness that she doesn’t direct to just anyone. No, this is only for him because despite all the teasing and flirting, that is not where her affection stops. Not when her heart is thundering beneath her ribcage with her skin completely flushed with desire. 

Without much thought, Y/N leans forward, forcing herself up onto her tippy toes and plants the softest of kisses to his cheek. Though it's covered by his balaclava, he feels the pressures of her lips against him, the warmth of them seeping past the mask and into his skin so much so, that when Y/N eventually pulls away, he leans forward the slightest bit to keep her there. 

Her eyes flick up to meet his, shining with something unspoken yet recognized as wanting. However, she doesn’t act on it, instead she keeps the small distance between their bodies and whispers three simple words. 

you hit the floor with a sharp cry, pain lancing through your side and wrist. the scroll clatters beside you. for a moment you lie there, breathlessly. your hand instinctively cradles your belly. the baby moves again. it’s still strong and alive.

relief floods you, but it’s followed quickly by fear.

because your hear them. those heavy footsteps echo down the corridor. too fast and way too purposeful.

the sliding doors slam open with enough force to rattle the entirre frame. sukuna stands there, all four beefy arms tense, crimson eyes blazing with immediate and lethal irritation. the mouth on his abdomen twists into a snarl before the one on his face even opens.

he takes one look at you on the floor, at the displaced cabinet, the way you clutch your wrist and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

“what,” he growls, “is the meaning of this, woman?”

you try to push yourself up. trying to make yourself seem presentable, “it’s nothing, my lord. i only—“

“do not.”

two of his arms move before you can finish. one massive hand catches your shoulder while the other slides beneath your knees. he lifts you as if you weigh nothing before carrying you to the thick futon piled with silks. the third hand hovers over your belly, not quite touching, while the fourth grips your injured wrist with surprising gentleness. though his expression promises murder.

you wince as he probes the swelling. a bruise is seemingly already blooming.

sukuna’s eyes narrow at the bruise on your wrist. something inside him twists, “you fell.”

“well, i reached for a scroll,” you admit quietly as you hold your head down in shame, “didn’t think—“

“yeah. you obviously didn’t think,” his voice is deceptively calm now. the kind of calm that precedes slaughter.

he sets your wrist down and rises to his full imposing height. the black tattoos shift across his skin as his muscles flex, “tsk. y’re crawling about like some reckless servant chasing trinkets, and look where that got ya.”

the air grows thick with that ominous cursed energy you’ve grown used to. outside in the gardens, you hear a distant scream. you swallow thickly. that was an unfortunate soul who was probably been lingering too close at the wrong moment.

sukuna doesn’t even glance toward the sound. his focus remains locked on you.

he kneels again, red eyes boring into yours. one hand cups your chin to tilt your face up, “do you have any idea what i would do to this entire fuckin’ country if you lost that child?”

your heart stutters.

you know he isn’t exaggerating. sukuna’s affection is a double edged blade. it’s obsessive, violent and all-consuming. you have seen villages erased for lesser offenses than inconveniencing his property.

“y-yes, but i’m alright,” you whisper, “the baby kicked just now. it’s still strong and kicking."

as if to prove it, another solid thump presses against your belly. sukuna’s big hand moves immediately, his warm palm spreading over the curve.

for a long moment there’s silence. then he exhales through his nose, a sound closer to a growl.

“you will not leave this chamber without my presence until the birth.” it isn’t a suggestion. “servants will bring you everything. if you desire a scroll, they will fetch it. if you desire the moon itself, they will bleed trying.”

you reach up with your good hand to brush fingers along one of his wrists. you tilt your head as you look up at him, “you’re angry.”

“furious.”

the word drips with venom. yet he lowers himself beside you on the futon, two arms pulling you carefully against his chest while the other two adjust pillows behind your back. the contrast is dizzying. his body radiates power and heat, capable of tearing mountains, but he handles you like a fragile thing.

“i should chain you to this bed,” sukuna mutters, lips brushing your temple, “perhaps then you’d stop testin’ me.”

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the dull ache in your wrist. “you’d miss my stubbornness too much,” you chuckle softly.

the king of curses huffs. the mouth on his stomach licks its lips, tasting the air—probably the lingering trace of your blood from a scraped elbow.

you lean into him and lett the solid bulk of his true form surround you. four arms are useful for this, at least. one idly strokes your hair, another rests over your belly, the third keeps your injured wrist elevated and the fourth simply holds you close.

minutes pass in comfortable silence. his cursed energy fluctuates wildly. you can feel the rage still simmering, but it’s more contained. you can feel it coiling around the room like invisible smoke, ready to lash out at the first person who enters.

a hesitant knock sounds at the door.

“enter,” sukuna barks.

a trembling servant girl slides the door open, carrying a tray of bandages and herbal salve. her eyes widen at the sight of sukuna holding you so intimately. she nearly drops everything.

“give it here,” he snaps while extending one arm without releasing you. the girl approaches on her knees, head bowed low, and places the tray within reach before scrambling back.

sukuna tends to your wrist himself.

his touch is precise, almost clinical, wrapping the linen with surprising care. every so often his gaze flicks to your face to check for discomfort. the fury hasn’t left his eyes, but it has shifted. it’s now directed outward. toward the world that has dared let you fall.

when he finishes, sukuna pulls you closer again. “if this swells worse by morning, i’ll flay the physician who attends you. slowly.”

you chuckle softly as exhaustion creeps in. too much happened in a small amount of time for your heavily pregnant self, “‘kay, noted.”

he stays like that long after your breathing evens out. sukuna rarely sleeps much, but tonight he remains vigilant and his hand never leaves your belly.

. . .

by the next morning, word has spread through the estate like wildfire. no one is to allow you out of the inner chambers without the king of curses’ permission.

extra guards patrol the halls. when a maid brings breakfast, she keeps her eyes on the floor and moves with exaggerated slowness, terrified of triggering his wrath.

you watch sukuna from the futon as he paces, big arms crossed in various combinations. he has already executed one overzealous attendant who suggested you might have ‘overexerted’ yourself earlier in the week. the body has been removed before you woke.

“ryo.. come here,” you call softly, trying carefully to calm that rage by using that nickname you made up for him. instead of the usual politeness.

sukuna pauses. then, with a reluctant grunt, he returns to your side. you take one of his large hands and place it back on your belly.

"feel it. he’s fine. we’re fine.”

sukuna’s expression remains stormy, but the tension in his shoulders eases fractionally, “if anythin’ changes...”

“‘you’ll destroy the world’. . . i know.”

a rare, sharp-toothed smirk tugs at his lips, “good. you’re learning.”

“You keep stealing the good fries,” he complained.

You looked up from the carton. “The good fries?”

“The crispy ones.”

“Those are all the fries.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You grabbed another one, and Sukuna immediately narrowed his eyes. “That was a crispy one.”

You giggled. “Too slow.”

“I literally bought them.”

“And?”

His jaw twitched, and for a second he almost smiled back at you. Almost–until his phone rang. The smile vanished instantly. You watched him pull it out, and his expression shifted. Not annoyed or irritated, just tired, which made your stomach sink because you knew that look.

He stared at the screen for a moment before answering. “Yeah.”

Silence followed. You kicked your feet against the pavement, picking at the corner of the fry carton while he listened, sighed, and ran a hand through his pink hair.

“How long?” he asked.

Your stomach dropped.

NOoOooOoOOoOoOooO. Not today. Not now. You already knew. You knew before he even said it. Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine.”

You looked away before he could see your face. The call ended. A few seconds passed, then he said, “I gotta go.”

There it was.

You nodded. “Oh.”

His brows furrowed. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, trying to sound casual. Normal. Totally unbothered.

“Okay.”

Sukuna stared at you. You stared at the road. He knew. You knew he knew, but neither of you were going to say it.

“They need someone to cover,” he said.

“Okay.”

“You mad?”

“No.”

A lie. A terrible lie. Possibly the worst lie ever spoken.

Sukuna scoffed. “You’re literally pouting.”

“M’not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You shoved another fry into your mouth aggressively. Sukuna stared, then snorted–actually snorted, the jerk.

“I’m not pouting.”

“You look like someone kicked your dog.”

“I don’t even have a dog.”

“You look like someone would kick your dog.”

You glared at him. He looked annoyingly amused, until his expression softened slightly.

“They’re short‑staffed.”

“Okay.”

“I need the hours.”

“I know.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Yuji needs new shoes.”

Your gaze flickered up. Sukuna looked away. “Kid grew out of the last pair in like three damn months.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “And Choso’s helping with rent already. I’m not dumping more on him.”

Your chest tightened, because there it was–the real reason. Not cigarettes, not stupid spending, not because he wanted to leave. Because there was a five‑year‑old waiting for him at home who somehow managed to outgrow everything the second it was bought. Because Choso was already carrying enough at sixteen. Because Sukuna had been playing the role of provider for so long that saying no almost wasn’t an option anymore.

“I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to,” he said quietly.

You hated that, because you knew it was true. He wasn’t ditching you because he wanted to. He needed the money. You knew that, but the stupid hurt feeling wouldn’t go away. Because for one afternoon–one stupid afternoon–you wanted him to pick you. Just once.

You immediately hated yourself for thinking it, because that wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Bills weren’t fair. Rent wasn’t fair. And Sukuna had never gotten the luxury of putting feelings before survival.

Still… it hurt.

“Whatever,” you muttered. There it was–the dangerous whatever.

Sukuna sighed. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally not.”

“You get this tone.”

“What tone?”

“That one.”

You stood up. “There is no tone.”

“There is.”

“There isn’t.”

“There is.”

You grabbed your bag. “Go to work, Sukuna.”

His jaw clenched. You knew that look too–the one where he wanted to argue but couldn’t, because he really did have to leave. So instead he stood, towering over you.

“Walk home safe.”

“Yeah.”

“You got your keys?”

“Yeah.”

“Phone charged?”

“Yes, dad.”

That earned you a glare.

Good. Maybe he should suffer too.

“You being annoying on purpose?”

“Maybe.”

His eyes narrowed, then he reached over and flicked your forehead. Hard.

“Ow!”

“Brat.”

Then he started walking backwards toward the street. “Text me when you’re home.”

You rolled your eyes.

He pointed. “Seriously.”

“Okay.”

“Promise.”

You huffed. “Promise.”

Only then did he finally leave, and somehow watching him disappear around the corner felt way worse than you’d expected.

The walk home sucked, mostly because it gave you time to think, which was terrible. Thinking was terrible. You replayed the afternoon over and over–the way he’d looked disappointed too, the way he’d tried explaining, the way he’d said he wouldn’t leave if he didn’t have to–and somehow that only made you more upset, because if he’d been a jerk about it, you could’ve stayed mad. Instead, he’d been reasonable, which was annoying.

Your phone buzzed.

Ryo🤰: Made it.

You ignored it.

Another buzz.

Ryo🤰: You home yet?

Ignored.

Five minutes later:

Ryo🤰: Answer your phone idiot.

Ignored.

Then–

Ryo🤰: Don’t make me come check.

You immediately typed back:

You: You’re literally at work.

His reply came instantly.

Ryo🤰: So you’re alive.

You stared at the screen for a moment, then locked your phone.

Nope. Not doing this. You were too sad and too grumpy to talk.

Three hours later, you were curled up in bed, still grumpy, still refusing to text him properly, and still pretending you weren’t checking your phone every ten minutes. The quiet of your room made everything worse, and when the sudden knock at the door echoed through the apartment–three sharp raps–you froze. It was nearly midnight, and before you could even process who would be knocking at this hour, your phone rang. Sukuna’s name lit up the screen, making your stomach flip as you answered with a flat, “What?”

“Open the door,” he said.

You sat upright, confused. “...What?”

“Door.”

“Sukuna.”

“Door.”

“You were literally at work.”

“I still am.”

“What?”

“Open the damn door.”

Still confused, you dragged yourself out of bed and opened the door, only to find him standing there in his work uniform with tired eyes, messy hair, and a paper bag in his hand. You blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

“You wouldn’t stop sulking,” he said.

“I wasn’t sulking.”

“You ignored me for three hours.”

“That’s not–”

“Sulking.”

You glared at him, but the irritation didn’t hold. He looked genuinely exhausted–dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped like he’d worked a twelve‑hour shift–and yet he’d still come all the way here. Your anger weakened immediately, traitorous thing that it was.

He shoved the paper bag into your arms, and when you looked inside, you found your favourite takeaway–the exact thing you’d mentioned wanting earlier but never ended up getting. Your chest tightened just a little.

“Sukuna…”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable. “I know today sucked,” he muttered.

You stared at him.

“And I know you were upset.” You opened your mouth to deny it, then closed it again, because pretending now felt pointless.

Sukuna sighed. “I just…” He struggled with the words, like saying them physically hurt. “I need the money.”

Your heart squeezed because he sounded almost guilty, like he'd done something wrong when he hadn't. Not really. “I know,” you said softly.

His shoulders loosened slightly, just a fraction.

“I know,” you repeated.

Silence settled between you, and before you could think better of it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Sukuna froze completely, like you’d hit him with a truck, but after a moment his arms came around you–slow, heavy, warm. You felt him exhale, the kind of breath someone lets out only after holding it in all day.

“I’m still annoyed,” you muttered.

“Mhm.”

“You left me.”

“Mhm.”

“You suck.”

“Mhm.”

He rested his chin on your head. “Still bought you food.”

“…Yeah.”

“Still came here.”

“…Yeah.”

“Still got another shift tomorrow.”

You groaned, and he actually laughed–a low, tired sound against your hair. And despite everything, the stupid hurt feeling finally faded. Because maybe Sukuna couldn’t always choose you first; life didn’t give him that luxury. But even after a miserable shift and an exhausting day, he still ended up on your doorstep at midnight. And maybe that counted for something too.

a/n: Inspireddd by the faaact exams are preventing me from talking to my girlfrieeends :(

you’re still pissed. imagining him flirting with her. he barely even flirts with you!!!! well he does compliment you a lot, clear with his intentions, he does flirt outside of his workplace in that blunt way that makes you wonder if he meant that how you thought. he always does end up meaning it that way.

how many of your clients do you sleep with?

you swear it’s not coming from insecurity… well just a little. curiosity mostly, evil green curiosity imagining him and the girl with abs having sex on his comfy memory foam mattress in his apartment in the city.

You

But you’re not my client anymore so none now

you want to go back inside the gym where you know he’s sitting in that stupid wheely chair in the office probably laughing at your messages when he’s supposed to making meal plans.

Tell me what’s going on

Have you left yet?

should you tell him the truth? fuck it.

i’m in my car in the car park

you think he’s given up on you. deemed you too much and annoying. he’s only taken you out to eat a few times, invited you to a fancy private gym sauna, slept with you once. it’s not like you’re in a relationship. but he did say he liked you then cut you off from working with him.

four minutes thirty two seconds after your text and you get a knock on your passenger window.

“oh,” you mumble to yourself. you weren’t expecting him to come out to find you but after everything you know about him, you should have. he’s tall enough that you just get his chest in view until he leans down to look at you blankly through the window.

he’s so sexy it hurts. you blink away the memory of him less than a week ago, how your personal trainer had sex with you like he was making love. long deep strokes inside of you. massaging your hips with every thrust. all with stamina that allowed you both to go on for multiple rounds with meant multiple orgasms in multiple positions. you don’t think you can even look him in the eye.

you reach over to unlock your car door with a dramatic huff, watch as the large muscled man, donned in his typical black loose muscle tank and black shorts slides into your seat.

he looks gigantic in your little car, his elbows touching the window and your gear stick. the smell of him, this sweet rustic smell overwhelms your cotton air freshener hanging on your mirror. you can barely think straight.

“you good?” he says, all his words straight from his gut, a bit scratchy like he was shouting earlier. katsuki scratches his head, flickers his eyes over your body. tense with your arms crossed.

bakugou katsuki hasn’t liked a woman romantically in years. it’s never been a problem for him considering he wasn’t too fussed for a relationship and if he wanted sex, well, he knew women wanted to have sex with him. he has work emails stating this. but since he never came across women he wanted, he was pretty weak on his flirting and assuming skills when it came to them. or specifically when it came to you. you who was always chatty and bubbly in your pt sessions. chatting his ear off to get out of a set, who asks him loads of questions just to find out if he has any siblings (no) and if he went to university (yes) and how exactly is he qualified. so he has no clue what to do with you like this. he could feel it through the one word answer.

pursed lips, crossed arms. you’ve got your big ass water bottle between your legs, the one he unscrewed the lid of and drank from after you had sex at his apartment.

bakugou katsuki wants you. he admitted he had feelings for you when he cut off the pt contract.

you good? no you’re not.

“i’m pissed off with you, katsuki.” you grunt, staring out your window. a woman walks past, you like her lilac gym set. “really pissed off.”

bakugou’s heart leaps in his chest. do you not want him anymore? fuck. he sits up straighter, tries to turn to face you but there’s not much space in your car to do that. he ends up with the seatbelt digging in his back.

“what did i do? i didn’t mean it.”

you finally look over to him. how dynamics have changed with you both. it was once you trying to learn a thing or two about him while he tactfully ignored every attempt for you to get to know him. strictly professional! to him slowly opening up about his life, spending private time together and now he’s about to drag answers from you.

he looks like a desperate puppy. thinking about putting his hand on your bare thigh in your little shorts and deciding not to. tiny pout on his lips, his usual half lidded eyes are wider trying to take in as much as he can from your behaviours.

“you didn’t even say hi to me, no hello no anything. and… and i’m still not over you cancelling our sessions to then replace me, at our exact time, with someone else! you’ve replaced me!” you fling your arms up in the air exasperated, “how am i to know you won’t seduce her, the way you seduced me? everyone knows you’re attractive, she’s going to be all over you and she doesn’t even need a pt! she looks great!”

bakugou doesn’t mean to, he swears he doesn’t, but the corner of his lips quirks up in a smile.

“baby,” he starts which only makes your head snap to him. he called you that when you kissed for the first time, when you were pushing him onto his bed and dragging your sports bra off.

“don’t baby me right now,” you wag your finger at him.

he holds his hands up in defence, bows his head slightly with a grin.

“yn, sweetheart,” he opts for instead, in this honey silk growl that makes you press your thighs together. it’s so over for you. “i can’t stop my session with another client to go and say hi to you. i would have had to cross the room to do that. it’s not fair.”

you know he’s right. you hate how he’s talking to you softly, like you’re a tender open wound in need of being plastered up. you wanna crawl into his lap as he kisses down your neck.

“if you didn’t run off, i would have grabbed ya and fixed your posture on the lat pulldown.”

“my posture was fine!” your biceps hurt instead of your lats, you definitely had the wrong posture.

bakugou is sneaky, finally sliding his hand onto your thigh, large hand able to grip your whole leg and then some. he does a light squeeze, then leans over to kiss the corner of your jaw. immediately you soften, laying back on your car seat instead of upright like a pin.

“okay, baby. we’ll work on that next time though.”

you look over at him and he slowly nods at you which gets you nodding back hypnotised.

“you weren’t replaced. could never replace you. nobody can chat my ear off like you or threaten to leave the buildin’ if i make them do one more rep. nobody is like you, which makes my job real fuckin’ boring right now.” he half laughs and your body warms up, “got a new client though.”

that’s when you grimace again.

“you’re going to seduce her—,”

“baby—,”

“like you seduced me!”

bakugou wants to drag you into his lap, hug you to him, squeeze you and kiss your neck. it’s probably best he doesn’t in his work car park.

“you need a bigger car, or we should be chattin’ in my car. i’ve got blacked out windows so i can touch you.” he squeezes your thigh, then rubs his thumb over your skin.

he’s trying to distract you, get you fuzzy headed so he doesn’t have to answer your question.

“nobody is doing any seducin’. people don’t even use that fuckin’ word anymore but if they did they’d know you seduced me.”

you gasp, “no i didn’t!”

bakugou scoffs, “you wouldn’t brush your ass against me when you’d get up on purpose? there was one day where you doing these sweet fuckin’ moans after every rep—,” “you tripled my reps that day!” “— another where you wore these little shorts with the scrunched fabric at your ass and asked me how they looked. the fuck you wanted me to say?”

he smirks over at you, fingers grabby now, eager to get more of you in his hands. he slides you around so your back is against your window, your feet in his lap. his hands are on your calves, your thighs.

“so fuckin’ curious all the time. asking me questions about everything. making me forget that we were going over our forty second rest and just fuckin’ up the whole goddamn workout.”

your arms are back crossed over your chest. “fine, i get it. i was a terrible client.”

“that’s not what i’m sayin’. i’m sayin’ i like you, i told you i like you. i’ve been takin’ you out but when i have time i’ll do a date for us. nothing gym related. especially since last time i really had you…,” on your back, on your knees, in his lap, “it wasn’t… wasn’t romantic like i wanted.”

you tilt your head confused, “you didn’t enjoy it?”

it was definitely rushed at the beginning, after going out to get noodles after a session, going back to his and unable to get your hands off each other. if anything it was a long time coming.

bakugou’s eyes widen, “what, no! i loved it. i’ve been thinkin’ about it everyday since. i just wanna be good for you, treat you how you deserve.”

that gets you laughing, “i think i deserved three hour sex with so many orgasms i lost count but if you want to add in a massage and rose petals that’s okay with me. i don’t mind.”

bakugou stares at you for a moment, your playful bite to your lip, how your fingers play with your dainty necklace. “i’ll give you a massage next time,” he nods, “i’ll hold off on the rose petals, i’m new to this all.”

“dating?”

“having a goddamn crush.” he sighs, looking out the window. “and to set it straight. i don’t flirt with my clients, i don’t fuck them either, that’s why i had to stop our contract. you don’t need to worry about me fuckin’ around.”

you nod slowly, with all the stories you’ve heard about men, your previous relationships, your friends ones, everything goes silent in your head. you believe him. “okay.”

“is that a normal okay or you’re still pissed off okay?”

“a i believe you okay.”

“good,” bakugou smiles, a cute slow boyish one that shows off his canines. you wanna kiss all over his face. that scar across his cheek, his slightly crooked nose, his pretty pink lips.

“are you sure we can’t have any sessions? i miss them.” you whine, reaching over to grab his hand and yank him to you.

in any other headspace he’d stop this much contact so close to his workplace, he’s all over you right now.

“baby—,”

“i’ll be on my best behaviour if you are.”

“i’m not havin’ you pay me.”

“perks of fucking your pt,” you grin and bakugou has to close his eyes for a second to stop himself getting hard.

“it will have to be new timings. basically after hours, like us going to the gym as…”

a couple? friends?

“as two people that know each other somewhat personally?” you giggle and bakugou presses his palm onto your bare waist beneath your sports bra.

he presses a kiss to your cleavage, then gives you a nibble that has you pushing his head off you.

“i’ll make you my girlfriend. i want it in good timin’,” he breathes.

your eyes widen as you inhale sharply, “you’re so forward.”

bakugou shrugs, “am i not supposed to say what i think?”

you’re all flustered, heat rising from your toes to the top of your head. you want to take him home, strip him naked. you want to make him a grilled cheese and watch him eat it. you want him to recite his childhood to you from age zero to age sixteen. then sixteen to now.

“you should keep doing it.”

“i’ll send you times when i’m free, we can keep it twice a week still and i can still make you a meal plan and routines. just like before.”

you smile, “but this time you’ll actually touch my waist and flirt back with me? i’ll get unprofessional katsuki.”

“you’ll only be gettin’ unprofessional me now. we’ll be off the clock.”

he inches closer to your face, closer, then a centimetre more before you grab the back of his head and press his lips onto yours. you tilt your led to the left while he goes right, a soft easy smooch that becomes open mouths. his tongue against yours, swirling with a comfortable rhythm you’ve only ever found with him. it’s good, better than good, delicious. especially when his grip on your body gets rougher, on your lips, pulling you closer and closer to him, until you’ve got your hand on your car window, knees up like an awkward spider.

“as much as i’d love to fuck you in your workplace car park, there is no room in my car because of your massive thighs and biceps and shoulders,” you breathe.

you watch as he throws his head back on your car seat and looks down at you with half lidded eyes. he grabs your hand and rests it over his hard cock. what you’d do to see it again, feel it again.

“this is how you had me every fuckin’ session,” he drawls and your sigh comes out high pitched, weak.

“you never made it easy for me. i’d…” you trail off, breathing heavier all of a sudden.

“you’d what?”

it’s like he knows what you’re going to say, kissing under your ear lobe. thank fuck for all those stretches he makes you do because you would not be able to straddle his lap like this a few months ago.

“go home, undress and touch myself to you.”

“fuck,” bakugou drops his head onto your shoulder, presses your hand onto his crotch. his next words are a whine, deep and growly, “let me make you come here.”

it’s the first time you’ve had the clearer head out of the two of you.

“another pt or a client could see us! you can’t,” you say but still, in the privacy of your car, it feels like the outside world doesn’t exist. you kiss his neck, a few pecks before making out with a spot that gets him groaning.

“fuck, baby. okay we gotta stop. i also gotta go back to work. fuck… let’s go to mine or yours, whatever.”

“you need to drive your own car,” you giggle pulling off to look at him properly. he looks incredibly needy, staring at your lips, hands stroking up and down your waist. he even adjusts your hips so you feel him between your legs.

“damn.” he utters, “you’re drivin’ me insane. i need a minute.”

he plops you back into your seat, looks around out the windows.

“if it’s any consolation, i’m wet too. if that wasn’t obvious. practically soaked right now.”

“that doesn’t help my cock.”

you reach over to rest your hand over him again but bakugou grabs your wrist.

“okay, i’m gonna grab my shit from inside and i’m gonna get in my car and follow you to yours. wanna see your bedroom.” he bites down so hard on this bottom lip, “wanna see where you were touchin’ your pussy thinkin’ about me.”

“katsuki,” you whisper.

he darts his head to you, a man way too horny to be cognitive right now, “sound like a plan, baby?”