katsuki snorts the moment he sees you standing there with your messy hair and wrinkled t-shirt. his t-shirt. the thin material barely covers your legs, and clings just enough to show the soft swell of your breasts underneath. his eyes drag over you slowly before he clicks his tongue.
“why are you up?” he asks, already kicking the door shut behind him.
“i wanted to stay awake and wait for you,” you reply, voice hoarse and sleepy as you stretch your arms above your head. a tired yawn slips out right after, your eyes watering slightly.
“tch. i told you to stop doin’ that. you’re not getting enough sleep this way,” he says, brows furrowing as he walks closer. his tone isn’t harsh, just concerned.
“you know i don’t like sleeping alone,” you frown softly, watching him stop right in front of you. he drops his gym bag onto the floor with a dull thud before turning back to you fully.
“yeah, cause it’s sleeping that we do when we’re together, right?” he smirks, voice dripping with sarcasm.
his hand reaches for the hem of your shirt — well, his shirt — fingers rubbing the fabric between them before slowly sliding underneath. the tips of his fingers brush against your bare thigh and hip as he huffs quietly through his nose.
“katsuki, I’m tired,” you mumble, already feeling the redness creeping across your cheeks when his eyes darken.
“too tired to put on underwear?” he asks, fingers grazing higher against your naked skin. you can feel the warmth of his hand even through your embarrassment.
“you always complain it’s in the way,” you shrug weakly and he groans, tilting his head back for a second like you were testing his patience on purpose.
“but you’re still tired?” he asks with a raised brow, staring at you carefully.
you smile at him innocently.
“oh yes, very,” you push his hand away gently before bending down in front of him. the shirt rides up instantly, giving him a full, clear view of your bare ass as you grab his gym bag from the floor.
you hear his sharp inhale behind you.
“take a shower then come to bed… oh, and solve that in your pants, please,” you smirk, glancing back at him as your eyes flick down to his crotch.
his gaze follows yours automatically and he sees the growing tent straining against his sweatpants. his jaw tightens immediately.
“fuck.”
a/n: i present to you katsuki “doesn’t need much to get a hard on” bakugou. tags: @tokkushin @kamislop
being a podcaster that constantly goes viral when people clip you getting passionate about something. going on a rant about how that basketball guy was a fucking idiot for cheating on your favourite rapper. another clip of you saying ingenium’s new suit just looks sooooo good on him. did anyone know he was that fine?
always talking about pop culture, the fun parts about hero news (usually just outfits and faces) and little tidbits about your life.
you end up on bakugou’s 10 minute instagram scroll. everything you said about that stupid loser basketball player is true. you cuss well, eloquent with it. he doesn’t agree with what you say about ingenium’s new suit. well, it’s only recently got better because he got in contact with bakugou’s suit designer. he thinks you’re cute when you go into detail about why the suits better. bakugou still disagrees though.
but what makes bakugou take a step further is when he gets a video of you, not crying but angry. you’re speaking into a mic from your bed, or maybe it’s a set? but a bed, nevertheless, white sheets pulled up under your chin with this low lamp lighting.
“also i think i’m swearing off dating. it was going perfect with one guy and then he breaks it off because he doesn’t want his business ending up on the podcast…. i haven’t even said anything about him!” you whine, “and now it just looks like i’m proving his point because i’m talking about it but i wouldn’t have if we were still dating.”
the text on the video screams, “YN SINGLE?!”
bakugou taps on your instagram. loads of clips from your podcast pops up. he finds the next video, the one after the last.
“well dms are open if any fine men are interested. when i say fine i mean fine. you also have to be able to keep up with me, handle a little joke,” you laugh.
and bakugou thinks about it for three days. watches more videos of you talking, your goofy opinions, your educated opinions, your real opinions. scrolls through your personal instagram too.
so he does it. he dms you on your instagram because he deems himself a fine man, he can handle a little joke and well, he likes you. a lot.
you’re funny and smart. articulate yourself well. very beautiful. hobbies on your instagram, full group of friends. well travelled and a homebody and social and he’s eager to know more.
@ dynamight: Are applications still open?
it’s fun, bakugou thinks. a good slide into your dms.
but you don’t reply for a week. he thinks he’s been completely ignored. clearly not interested in him and defo not your type. even though you’re both verified so you’ve definitely got the notification. bakugou takes it all on the chin. doesn’t mention it to anybody because it’s a little embarrassing. maybe it’s been buried from all the other dms you’ve received from men.
until he gets a video on his timeline. then the same video sent to him from three different friends.
the words are captioned loud and bold on the video. straight to the point and pure clickbait. well is it clickbait if it’s true? bakugou chokes on his spit, turning up the volume in his work bathroom.
“DYNAMIGHT IN THE DMS?”
“now guys… walk with me here. if you’re dynamight, thee bakugou katsuki, one of the sexiest men in the world, PLEASE don’t watch this clip. i can’t believe you’ve even seen clips of my pod. i swear this isn’t even me!” you ramble into your microphone, tucked up with your knees to your chest for a more casual episode. “okay guys, now that he’s gone, i’ve got to tell you… after last episode when i said can fine men send me dms, why the fuck did dynamight send me one? i was so shocked by it i still haven’t replied. i’ve avoided talking about him here because i do not want to be on that man’s radar. he’s way too gorgeous for me to comprehend.”
you giggle to yourself, “but he dmed me… something about are applications open? the boyfriend ones. now i can’t reply because ive just told everybody but there’s no way i pulled him.”
bakugou watches it leaning against the sink, three times. his smile gets bigger every second till he’s full on grinning at his phone.
you’re joking a little, entertainment for the podcast because you know you’re just as fine as him. though you don’t think your worlds would ever cross?
he decides to make another move.
@ dynamight: I think you’re gorgeous too
commented underneath the video.
an onslaught of likes and comments commence. mostly your fans giving a whole load of keyboard smashes and “yn is going to go insane”.
then he puts his phone down, washes up his hands and checks his appearance in the mirror. wipes his nose and what not.
but he gets lured to his phone again, picking it up and opening instagram to find you’ve replied to his comment.
@ ynpod: @ dynamight i swear i don’t share all my business online
@ dynamight : @ ynpod So applications are still open?
Summary: Your best friend was turning 27, and despite his many protests, you were throwing him a party, and of course, he was grateful.
Context: unpocted sex (p in v), 69, missionary, slight talking her through it, spanking (?), nipple piercings, drinking, etc
Word count — 5.7k
Babble; I know it's well late, but it's never too late to celebrate our boy x happy 27th Lord explosion murder God Dynamight
The blonde tsk'd at the many text messages that lit up his screen. He had woken up early for a good workout at the gym; he had taken a couple of days off from the agency, but that didn't mean he could slack off.
Even if it was his birthday.
“Fuckin’ extras…” he muttered under his breath, shoving the phone face-down on the bench before grabbing his towel. He already knew what most of those messages were—half-assed “happy birthdays,”
Katsuki cursed at the sound of his phone going off again. The name flashed across his screen.
"What do you want?"
"Hah, is that how you speak to your bestfriend?"
He rolled his eyes, already dragging the towel over the back of his neck as he headed toward the lockers.
"It is when you're calling me in the middle of my set."
You had been a thorn in Bakugo's side for 10 years. He had met you online on a hero discussion forum on Discord. You were studying at a hero school in America, running your mouth through a screen like you weren’t talking to the future number one.
He should’ve blocked you.
Probably would’ve—if you weren’t the only one who could keep up.
Arguments turned into debates, debates turned into late-night calls, and somehow, in between all of that… you stuck.
You didn't actually meet until the war; you and a few of your classmates had been sent to Japan to help out alongside of American pro’s, and you had decided to finish your studying with him at UA.
He wouldn't say it out loud, but the minute he saw you in person, he had to admit that you were fucking stunning.
You were a loud mouth, irriating but were smart and strong as hell.
“…You still there, dumbass?” you cut in, pulling him out of it.
“Tch. Obviously.”
“Right,” you hummed. “Anyway, I was thinking—”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
“Don’t need to.”
He could hear you sigh from the other end, every year it was the same since he met you. He didn't like a big spectacle for his birthday, but every year you managed to pull the wool over his eyes, but not this year.
"You can't make me come to no stupid party, you won't be seeing me for the rest of the day, so pack in whatever you've planned."
"Such a fucking old man!"
Bakugo laughed at the abrupt way you ended the call. He was on his way home now, and yes, he knew spending his birthday alone at home sounded boring, but it's exactly what he wanted.
Well, he would much prefer to be on patrol, but of course the fucking agency told him to take a couple days off.
It hadn't taken him long to get back to his apartment; he had a plan. Cook his favourite meal, watch his favourite movie, have another workout-- maybe a drink and then turn in.
But he should have known better; he had fucking vultures in his life.
"The fuck are you guys doing in my house!?"
Kirishima and Kaminari were spread out on his couch, playing his PlayStation. The redhead turned to his best friend, a wide grin splitting on his face as he jumped up from the couch.
"Bro! Happy birthday, we've been calling--"
"I know, I've been ignoring you extras, how the fuck did you get in my apartment?"
"Y/n let us borrow the spare key you gave her." Bakugo looked over at the blonde on his couch, his eyes focused on the TV screen, a burp leaving his mouth as he offered his friend a bag of chips.
Bakugo kissed his teeth as he ventured further into his apartment, "That fucking woman, I'm not going to no stupid party."
"There's no party, bro, we just don't want you to be by yourself, so we'd thought we play some video games like old times."
The blonde looked at the two he called friends, a part of him was still cautious; he knew how cunning his best friend was, and he wouldn't put it past her to try and trick him, but then again, these two idiots weren't that smart.
"Tch, move the fuck over and give me the controller."
You smiled at the text Kirishima had sent you. You knew your best friend had probably put up a fight with them in his space, but you knew those two were the best for the job.
"Okay, we've got about two hours before he gets mad at them and tries to kick them out."
Mina pulled the cake out of the oven, you gasped at it, the marble of the sponge cake look amazing, you just needed to frost it and get it over to the bar.
Yes, Katsuki said no party, but technically it wasn't really a party. You were just getting your friends together at his favourite bar—so it wasn't really a party.
"I don't know why he loves this cake so much, but all I ever hear is 'make me a marble cake woman' fucking idiot didn't use to like sweets until I came along and now I'm here making him a cake."
"You sound like you're complaining."
You kissed your teeth as you finished off the icing, ignoring Mina's smirk as she started packing up the food you made.
"Of course not, just wondering why can’t he just pick between one or the other."
"Hmm, I don't know, chocolate and vanilla seem to fit well with one another, almost like they're perfect for each other."
Your brows pinched together, the piping bag just inches away from the cake as you turned to your pink-skinned friend who still hadn't wiped that smirk off her face.
"Is there something you want to say, Mina? You know, without all of those silly metaphors that you're using."
“All I know is that you made that man his favourite foods from scratch, threatened Kaminari with bodily harm if he ruined tonight, and spent twenty minutes trying to find the ‘right shade’ of black frosting because ‘Katsuki hates ugly decorations.’”
“…Okay, first of all,” you pointed the piping bag at her accusingly, “black frosting is hard to make.”
“And second of all?”
You paused.
“…Shut up.”
Mina cackled loudly, watching as you continued with the cake.
"I mean, you don't have to admit how perfect you are for each other, but why don't you just give him a birthday present I know you'll both enjoy?"
"Mina!"
The pink-haired girl cackled again, walking away from the mess she had created.
It wasn't like you hadn't ever thought about it before. Before meeting Katsuki in person you had already found him attarctive, he was smart and had strong opionions but also listened to you rant at the end of your day.
The two of you used to video chat every day until you moved to Japan and finished your hero studies. And of course, he was gorgeous in person, but he was your bestfriend and you never thought to cross the line.
And now, stupid Mina with her stupid ideas got all up in your head.
You kissed your teeth before shaking your head as you finished the cake. You blinked out of your thoughts from the light up screen from your phone.
He's getting antsy. Don't worry, we'll get him there in an hour.
"Shit, Mina!"
Katsuki honestly didn’t know how the fuck he ended up here.
He wished he could say he was drugged.
Hell, it’d make more sense if that purple-haired freak had used his quirk on him again.
Because there was no logical explanation for how he went from fully prepared to spend the night alone in his apartment to standing outside his favorite bar in a fitted black button-up while Kirishima grinned at him like an idiot.
Somehow, some fucking how—
His shitty friends and that old hag tricked him.
He had been this close to throwing Kaminari and Kirishima out of his apartment, too. Ready to blast them straight through the hallway for touching his speakers and eating his food.
"Katsuki, how have you been ignoring my calls all day?"
"Tch, you call my phone just to cuss at me? Fucking old hag, you know it's my brithday right?"
"Why do you think I'm calling you--"
The blonde can't remember the rest of the conversation; all he knows is that he somehow managed to put on a good shirt, and his two lunatic friends said they'd drive him to his mum's, but now he ended up here.
He's favourtite bar, where his best friend planned a party for him.
"Will you stop looking at me like that?"
"Thought I told you no party."
You smiled at the blonde, giggling softly as you looked over at your friends that filled up the bar. It was casual, and it was just your close friends from UA and some people from the agency.
"Yes, well, Katsuki, you should know better by now."
He clicked his tongue, ears turning faintly red as his crimson eyes dragged over you. He never would admit it, but you looked good; you were wearing a deep red jumpsuit with the back cut out, the damned thing seemed to hug your curves. Your curls were styled in a beautiful high puff with soft tendrils framing your face, gold hoops swaying every time you moved.
Bakugo scoffed as he looked anywhere but you, trying to ignore the way his cheeks seemed to heat up from the smell of you.
“Tch. You’re too damn stubborn for your own good,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away when you reached up to fix the collar of his shirt.
"Yes, well, where would you be without me, hmm? At home by yourself watching your lame—"
"Oi not lame—"
"Lame action movies," you teased, patting his chest. “Now come on, birthday boy. Just relax and enjoy yourself for once. I made those wings you like, extra spicy.”
He grumbled under his breath, but let you drag him toward the booth anyway. The night went on the best way possible. Bakugo didn't hate the night, no matter how much the extras kept getting on his nerves.
He ate the food you and Racoon eyes had spent all afternoon making, and he was probably on his third beer and second shot right now. And of course, since his first birthday with you, it was now the competitive time of the night.
“I’m not playing this fucking game with you extras,” Bakugo growled, arms crossed.
Kirishima and Denki laughed at him as you and Mina rounded the corner carrying more beer.
“You’re just mad that you’re not that great—” Kirishima started, grinning with his sharp teeth.
Bakugo pointed the pool cue directly at the spiky redhead. “Want me to kill you?”
You laughed under your breath, setting the drinks down. Katsuki was flushed from the alcohol and the company, looking far more relaxed than the man who had stormed in earlier. Still, the second he noticed you watching him, his crimson eyes softened just a fraction before his usual scowl returned.
"Fine, but we're playing teams."
You brows furrowed as you looked at the blonde, who pulled you towards the table.
"Er sir, you know damn well I can't play--"
"Shut up. It’s your fault for throwing me a party, so now you're gonna be on my team, and we're gonna win."
You didn't have the heart to tell him no, you were a good hero but your hand eye coordination when it came to pool sucked on so many levels. But it was his birthday.
You sighed as you turned to face him, "Fine. But if we lose—”
“Stop talking like a loser!”
You blinked.
Then narrowed your eyes immediately.
“Oh, fuck you.”
Kaminari burst into loud laughter from across the table. The blonde in front of you snarled as he stepped right behind you, his chest pressing firmly against your back. The heat of his body seeped through your shirt, making you shiver despite the warm buzz of the bar.
He slid his hands over yours, gripping the cue stick with a firm, almost possessive hold. His thumbs brushed the backs of your knuckles, sending a jolt straight to your core.
“Your grip’s all wrong,” he muttered, adjusting your fingers. “You’re gonna miss every shot if you keep flailing like that.”
You tried to focus on the table, but the scent of that aftershave you got him for his birthday last year mingled with the beer on his breath, and the way his forearm flexed against yours made your pulse race. Every time he shifted to line up a shot, his hips brushed against your ass, made you bite back a moan.
“Eyes on the ball, stop overthinking it. Just hit the damn thing like you mean it.” You kissed your teeth as you smushed your hand into his face, pushing him away from you.
The game was chaotic but surprisingly fun. Bakugo carried most of the weight, sinking shot after shot with aggressive precision while correcting your form every turn. When you actually managed to sink a stripe on your second attempt, he smirked and pinched you, muttering how well you did even after you punched him in the arm.
The game ended with you two winning, of course, and you were very much drunk from those shots Mina kept supplying everyone with. Even Bakugo was grinning more than usual.
"Pay up, losers!"
"W-what, we were putting money on this!"
"It's my birthday."
"So? Just because you win doesn't mean--"
"So not only are you losers your cheapskates too."
You blocked out the playful bantering between the three as you dragged Mina off to the dance floor, laughing loudly. The music pulsed through the bar as you moved with your friend, hips swaying freely, your deep red jumpsuit clinging to every curve while your curls bounced with the rhythm. You felt light, happy, and a little dizzy from the alcohol.
From his spot near the pool table, Bakugo couldn’t stop watching you.
He didn’t know why the hell he was staring. You were just dancing, you've been in his life for long enough to know how you and Mina dance together when you get a little drink in your system.
But his eyes kept tracking the way your body moved, the way the fabric stretched across your hips and thighs, the way your dark skin glowed under the dim lights. When you laughed and pressed back against Mina, grinding playfully to the beat, something low and hot twisted in his gut.
His jaw tightened as he felt himself getting hard in his pants.
“Tch. Fuckin’ idiot,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to look away. He brushed it off, blaming the alcohol and the long night, then grabbed a pool cue and started playing solo, sinking balls with sharp, aggressive precision to distract himself.
You danced for a few more songs before the heat and the shots started to catch up with you. Feeling a little tired and thirsty, you left Mina on the dance floor and went looking for Bakugo. You spotted him at the pool table, alone now, lining up another shot with that familiar scowl on his face.
Without hesitation, you hopped up and sat yourself on the edge of the table, right next to him. Your legs dangled as you grinned at him, cheeks warm from drinking.
“And why is the birthday boy all by his lomesome?”
Katsuki straightened up slowly, crimson eyes locking onto you. You looked even better up close like this — flushed, a little tipsy, curls slightly messy from dancing. He gripped the cue tighter.
“Not interested in dealing with those extras anymore,” he grumbled, but there was no real bite in it. His gaze flicked down to your thighs for a split second before snapping back to your face. “You done shaking your ass out there?”
You giggled, leaning back on your hands slightly, "Yup, you could have joined me, you know."
The blonde lined up his shot, trying to ignore the way your body heat tried to overwhelm his own. The sweet scent of your perfume mixed with the faint smell of alcohol and the warmth coming off your skin was making it hard to focus. He sank the ball with a sharp click, but his usual smugness was missing.
“Tch. I don’t dance,” he muttered, moving around the table. “Especially not with a bunch of idiots watching.”
You swung your legs lightly, watching him with a soft, tipsy smile. “Not even for me?”
The blonde looked at you, his crimson eyes locked onto the way you, he knew that if he opened his big ass mouth, he was going to step over a line he would not be able to find ever again.
You suddenly sat up straighter like you’d just remembered something important. The quick movement made you sway dangerously, nearly falling flat on your ass off the pool table. Bakugo’s hand shot out instantly, gripping your arm to steady you, mumbling for you not to be a dumbass before you flashed him a quick, bright grin before rushing off toward the back of the bar without another word.
He stood there, brows furrowed, wondering what the hell you were up to now.
He didn’t have to wait long.
The sound of hushed voices and barely contained giggling reached his ears. He turned just in time to see you leading the charge with Mina, Kirishima, and a few others crowding around him. You were holding a cake, he couldn't tell what flavour, but the icing was in his colours and right in the middle stood candles flickering softly on top.
“Happy 27th, Kacchan!” you announced, eyes sparkling with tipsy excitement.
Before he could bark out a protest, the whole group launched into song — loud, off-key, and full of affection.
Bakugo stood there with his ears burning red, arms crossed tightly over his chest, looking thoroughly annoyed but not stopping them.
When the singing finally ended, he looked at you, his heart beating harshly against his chest, and he really looked at you.
"Make a wish, Suki."
It wasn’t long before he blew out the candles and cheering burned his ears.
It was almost 3 a.m, and you were currently on the blonde’s back as he piggy-backed you home. Your arms were loosely wrapped around his neck, chin resting on his shoulder, while your legs dangled around his waist. The cool night air felt nice against your flushed skin after hours in the warm bar.
"So Bakugo, did you enjoy your birthday?"
“Shut up, dunce face,” Bakugo barked over his shoulder. “You guys live in the other direction. Why the fuck are you following us?”
Mina giggled from behind you, the pinkette currently on Kirishima’s back as well, her arms draped lazily around his neck. “We’re making sure our favourite birthday boy gets home safe, obviously!
Kirishima chuckled, giving Mina an easy bounce on his back. “Yeah, man. Don’t mind us. We’ll peel off in a few blocks.”
Bakugo clicked his tongue but didn’t try to shake you off. If anything, his hands tightened their grip under your thighs, holding you more securely against him. You could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering smell of alcohol and cake.
“You didn’t answer his question, Kacchan,” you teased, pressing your cheek against his. “Did you have fun? Even a little?”
He was quiet for a moment, the steady rhythm of his footsteps filling the silence. Then, low enough that only you could really hear:
“…Yeah. I did.”
Your heart fluttered. You smiled and nuzzled closer to his neck. “Good. That’s all I wanted.”
The walk continued like that — Mina and Kirishima eventually splitting off with loud goodbyes and knowing grins. Once they were gone, the street grew quieter. Bakugo kept carrying you the whole way, refusing to put you down even when you offered.
By the time you reached your apartment building, the tension that had been building between you all night had only grown thicker. He finally let you slide down his back once you were inside, but he didn’t step away. Instead, he turned to face you, backing you gently against the closed door.
You had to break your neck to look up at him, his eyes already meeting yours.
"You do this to me every year." He murmured, his hand coming out to tilt your chin up, "Why?"
You started at him for a while, a number of responses filtering your brain but only one really mattered. You knew if you crossed this line there was n finding it again, and you were so okay with that.
"Because it's you, Suki."
That seemed to be all he needed as he pulled you into him, his lips meeting yours in a hurry.
There was nothing gentle about it — ten years of restraint, of late-night arguments, shared battles, and unspoken longing finally exploding between you. Bakugo groaned into your mouth as one hand gripped your waist, the other sliding around your throat, holding you exactly where he wanted you.
You melted against him, fingers clutching the front of his shirt as his tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth with the same fiery dominance he brought to everything else. You moaned at how he tasted,
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. His forehead rested against yours, eyes still closed for a moment like he was trying to steady himself, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real after ten long years.
“Your wish…” you whispered, voice shaky.
Katsuki hadn’t even realised he’d buried his face into the crook of your neck, lips and teeth working over your skin as he sucked slow, deliberate bruises into the sensitive spot just below your ear. You moaned incoherently, fingers tightening in his shirt as your head tilted to give him better access.
“What?” he mumbled against your pulse, voice muffled.
“W-what did… shit… you wish for?” you managed to get out between soft gasps.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, crimson eyes dark and burning. “This,” he rasped, the low, gravelly vibration of his voice sending a shiver straight down your spine. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that since we were eighteen.”
You felt your eyes flutter, the haze from the alcohol and the overwhelming feel of him making your head spin. His hands were everywhere — one sliding up your side, thumb brushing the curve of your breast through the fabric of your jumpsuit, the other gripping your hip like he was afraid you’d disappear.
Katsuki kissed you again, slower this time, savouring it. His tongue traced your bottom lip before slipping inside, tasting you deeply, thoroughly. One of his hands moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading carefully through your curls so he wouldn’t tug too hard. (He knew you didn’t play about your hair). The other hand slid down to your thigh, lifting it to hook around his hip, pressing his growing hardness against your core.
You whimpered into his mouth at the contact, rolling your hips instinctively, a groan leaving his lips at the feeling.
“Been driving me crazy in this damn jumpsuit all night,” he muttered against your lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Every time you move, every time you laughed. Fuck, I wanted to drag you into the bathroom and fuck you raw.”
His mouth moved back to your neck, sucking another mark into your dark skin while his hand slowly dragged the zipper of your jumpsuit down, inch by inch. Cool air hit your heated skin as he peeled the fabric off your shoulders, exposing your bare tits and pierced nipples. He paused, eyes raking over you with pure hunger.
His calloused palm cupped your breast, thumb circling the silver-studded hearts.
“When the fuck did you get these?” he asked, voice low and rough.
You let out a breathy laugh, trying to keep your thoughts together. “For my 21st. Mina said they’d be cute.”
Katsuki continued to circle your nipple with his thumb until he pinched it slightly, watching how your mouth dropped open into the perfect O shape, a soft whimper slipping out.
“Well, thank God for Racoon Eyes,” he muttered,
You arched into his touch, moaning his name softly. “Katsuki… please…”
He took his time exploring you, kissing down your collarbone, licking a slow stripe along the swell of your breasts before wrapping his lips around your nipple. He sucked gently at first, then harder, tongue flicking as his free hand continued tugging your jumpsuit lower, over your hips and down your thighs.
When the fabric pooled at your feet, he stepped back just enough to look at you in nothing but your panties and gold hoops, dark skin glowing under the low hallway light.
“Goddamn,” he growled, voice thick with want. He lifted you again, hands under your thighs, and carried you to your bedroom like you weighed nothing.
Your lips met his again in a heated kiss, your tongue pushing into his mouth as your nails scraped lightly at the back of his neck. He carried you like he owned the place — which, in a way, he did. He’d been in and out of your apartment for years, crashing on your couch after long patrols, raiding your fridge, falling asleep during movies. Now he was finally claiming something much deeper.
It didn’t take long for him to barge into your bedroom with purposeful strides. Your back hit the mattress with a soft bounce, and Bakugo followed you down immediately, settling his weight between your spread thighs without breaking the kiss.
His hands roamed slowly, his calloused palms slid up your sides, cupping your breasts again, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. He leaned down, taking one into his mouth, tongue flicking the silver stud while his hand gave the other the same attention.
You moaned, back arching as your fingers dug into his shoulders. “Katsuki…”
He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks straight to your core. He didn't waste any time as his tongue traced down your stomach, over your hips, until his breath ghosted over your soaked panties.
He looked up at you, eyes locked with yours as he slowly peeled the lace down your legs. For a moment, he just stared, drinking in the sight of you completely bare for him.
“Fucking perfect,” he breathed.
Bakugo hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, the sharp heel of your shoe digging into his shoulder blade. The slight sting only seemed to spur him on. He leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, but you managed to pull on his hair, his brows furrowing at you.
“What’s the matter? I’m hungry,” he growled, voice low and impatient.
You let out a breathless laugh, cheeks burning. “Fuck, Suki… I wanna suck your dick. It’s your birthday.”
“Yeah? And as my birthday present, I want to eat your pussy. Now lay down.”
You giggled, the sound turning into a soft moan as you pulled him up your body instead. Your fingers grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. “Suki, please. You can eat me out later. Let me suck your dick.”
Bakugo's brows were still furrowed, not liking the idea of not being able to wrap his lips around your clit, but then his grin became absolutely feral it almost startled you.
"I mean, there's a way we both get what we want."
And that’s how he ended up underneath you, your hips rolling onto his face as you moaned around his dick.
The long, filthy drag of his tongue through your soaked folds ripped a loud, uncontrolled moan from your throat. He didn't hesitate, latching onto your clit and sucking it into his mouth with perfect pressure. His large hands clamped onto your ass, fingers digging into your skin as he gripped you tight, forcing your pelvis down to grind harder against his mouth.
“Fuck— Katsuki!” you cried out, your lips slipping off his cock as you arched your back, rolling your hips instinctively against his face
A sharp sting hit your ass, the sting sending a jolt to your clit as he sucked on the bundle of nerves even harder.
"Thought you wanted to suck my dick?" he muffled against your pussy.
You let out a shaky breath, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock before wrapping your lips around the pink tip once again.
Bakugo let out a guttural groan, his hips bucking upward as you swirled your tongue around the head of his dick. He didn't let up on your clit for a second, his suction becoming more aggressive.
“Shit, just like that,” he snarled against your soaked pussy, the words barely intelligible.
Your nails dug into his thighs as the pleasure built fast and overwhelming. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on you mixed with your muffled moans around his thick length filled the room. He was relentless, one hand slipping between you to rub tight circles on your clit while his tongue pushed deep inside you.
You came first — hard.
Your cry was choked around his cock as your orgasm slammed into you. Your hips jerked against his face, thighs clamping around his head while wave after wave of pleasure tore through your body. Bakugo kept licking you through it, greedy and possessive, refusing to let up until you were shaking and whimpering.
Only then did you redouble your efforts on him, sucking him deeper, stroking him faster, until his hips stuttered and he came with a loud, guttural groan. You swallowed as much as you could, the rest spilling down your chin as his body tensed beneath you.
For a moment, the only sounds in the room were both of you trying to catch your breath.
Katsuki finally tapped your thigh, and you shakily moved off him, turning around to face him. He looked wrecked, his lips swollen and shiny with your arousal. He pulled you down into a deep, filthy kiss, both of you moaning as you tasted yourselves on each others tongue.
The blonde had shifted both of you; you now underneath him, your leg hooked around his thigh, a moan slipping from your mouth as you felt his now hard dick on your clit.
“Fuck, Kat…” you whimpered, rolling your hips up to chase the friction.
He didn’t push inside you yet. Instead, he took his time grinding against your clit in slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, kissing you deeply between heavy breaths. One of his hands slid down your body, palming your breast and tugging gently at the silver piercing before moving lower. His fingers teased through your folds, spreading your slickness as he continued that maddening grind.
You were trembling beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure built again, slow and deep this time.
“Please…” you gasped against his lips. “I need you inside me, Katsuki."
He eased forward, inch by thick inch, stretching your pussy open with a low, guttural groan. The sensation of him filling you was overwhelming, each ridge of his shaft dragging against your inner walls.
“Shit… so tight,” he hissed through gritted teeth, burying his face in your neck as he bottomed out. He stayed there for a long moment, letting you adjust, hips twitching with the effort of holding still. “You feel so fucking good. Better than I imagined.”
A loud moan escaped you, legs locking tighter around him as you accommodated his girth. When the initial burn melted into pure pleasure, you rolled your hips up. “Move, Suki. Please.”
His thrusts were already hard, slamming your back into the mattress. He wanted to savour every second, every moan, every clench of your walls around him. His mouth stayed locked on your neck, sucking fresh marks into your skin while one hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.
Each drag of his cock against your gummy walls, made you cry out his name. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and his praises.
“That’s it… take it just like that,” he growled against your ear.
You cried out as he angled his hips and hit that perfect spot inside you. “Yes— fuck, Katsuki—”
“Yeah?” He grinned against your neck, biting down lightly as he picked up the pace, one hand gripping your thigh to spread you wider.
He pulled back slightly to look at your face, watching how your eyes fluttered and your mouth fell open with every stroke.
“Been mine for years, you know that? Just too stubborn to admit it. Now you’re gonna come on my cock and tell me who you belong to,” he snarled, reaching between you to rub tight, rough circles on your clit.
The combination of his words, his relentless pace, and the pressure on your clit sent you spiraling. Your legs shook, heels digging into his back as you clenched hard around him.
“Katsuki— I’m gonna—”
“Come on, then,” he teased, voice strained but mocking. “Let me feel how much your pussy needed me. Cum for me, baby.”
You shattered with a loud cry of his name, orgasm crashing through you hard enough to blur your vision. Your walls pulsed around him, pulling him deeper as pleasure ripped through every nerve.
Bakugo groaned, hips stuttering as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release. “Good girl—fuck, that’s my girl.”
A few more rough, deep thrusts and he came hard, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural moan of your name, spilling thick, hot cum deep inside you.
He collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you completely, both of you panting and sweaty. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, just heavy breathing and the feeling of finally being together after so long.
Bakugo eventually lifted his head, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your lips, then your forehead.
"Hope you liked your present, 'Suki."
“…Happy birthday to me,” he muttered, voice hoarse and satisfied.
i feel like phone sex with gaz doesn't start out as phone sex with gaz, but that might be because i can't stop writing a reader that is so damn sweet.
for once, him being away isn't a potential death sentence. you let yourself miss him selfishly. you let yourself call and text to your hearts content. you're gonna make him regret marrying you (impossible).
the phone call starts out innocently enough. i miss you's exchanged, you asking about his grandmother (it was a last minute trip and you weren't able to get the time off), kyle telling you what he hopes you're wearing.
a lingerie set, a silk night dress, or those sponge bob pyjamas he knows you love so much. its all equally as sexy to him.
you tell him exactly what you're wearing. "that pink nightie you got me for our anniversary last year," you tell him. "and nothing else."
"fuck," you hear him grunt.
you wish you had one of those old phones with a cord you could wrap around your finger around as you speak. "do you like that, kyle?" you ask him, your fingers resting on the very end of your dress. "want me to send a picture?"
he releases a noise from the back of his throat, one you know so well by now. "just keep talking to me," he says through a grunt.
you can picture it already, him in the en suite bathroom of his grandmother's guest bedroom, door locked. it's the safest place for him to touch himself. trousers unbuttoned, cock free, hand wrapped around it.
touching himself to your voice.
"what would you like to hear?" you ask him and lay on your front, propping yourself up with your hand. "would you like me to tell you how i want you to fuck me?"
"god, yes."
you've seen this sight before. sitting pretty on your knees while kyle touches himself. eyes closed, moaning your name while you just sit there, holding all the power.
"i'd be on your lap if you were here," you tell him. "bouncing with my tits out, just the way you like."
his breath catches in his throat.
"and you know how you like it when i rake my nails down your chest?" you ask and kyle releases a breathy yeah. "i'd do that, too. I'd let you hold my throat and bounce on your cock."
he grunts and you tip your head back, picturing the way he touches himself. "should be my hand wrapped around your cock, baby," you say and he can practically hear your pout.
"fuck, nearly there," he manages.
you release a sigh from your lips. "such a waste," you say. "should be there so you can cum inside me. get me pregnant."
that's the thing that does it. his breathing is ragged as he finishes, making a mess all over his hand. "fuck, thank you, baby," he says, breathlessly. "you're too good to me."
"I'm being serious," you tell him. "gotta get me pregnant when you get home, okay?"
kyle sucks in a breath and you know you've got him. him and his breeding kink. "okay," he agrees. "im gonna do whatever it takes to get you pregnant."
a breath leaves your lips. you can't wait to have him home.
a/n: some hc’s for katsuki x hyperfeminine!reader - req’d and lowk self indulgent
⋆˙⟡ will say he doesn’t fw your ‘girly shit’ but adores it
⋆˙⟡ groans when you beg for another blind box but indulges you nonetheless and will do unboxing videos with you
⋆˙⟡ spends the money to win you new plushies from claw machines and looks at you with a scowl when you place them on the bed
⋆˙⟡ loves to take you out shopping and will sit on that dressing room couch with a frown but can’t hide his heart eyes
⋆˙⟡ will let you give him another fashion show once you get home, clothes thrown all around the room but there’s a smile on your face so he can’t be mad
⋆˙⟡ lowk loves to dress you up and then parade you around and be an angry gaurd dog at any guy who looks at you
⋆˙⟡ not a big fan of pda but will hold your hand and give you kisses when you pout for them
⋆˙⟡ watches you do your hair and makeup, does his skin care routine with you
⋆˙⟡ if you whine enough he’ll get his pinky nail polished the same color as your nails - he pays for all of your nails and ‘maintenance’ appointments
⋆˙⟡ loves when you get new nails and send him a video of you playing with yourself - comes home immediately to have you jerk him off cus he wants to see your pretty nails wrapped around his cock
⋆˙⟡ loves that you’re always dressed you best but gets so hard on nights when you opt for one of his shirts and nothing else
⋆˙⟡ but your sheer nighties? that he can see everything through? yeah those are his favorites
“look at my pretty girl.” he lays you back on the bed so delicately.
“katsuki.” you spread your thighs for him.
“and her pretty pretty pussy.” he’ll kneel before you and drag out kissing up your thighs before he finally licks a stripe up your center.
he groans into you, savoring your sweetness and the high pitched whimpers that leave your mouth.
⋆˙⟡ takes his time when fucking you and splitting you open, loves missionary with you bc he doesn’t want you to have to do any work
⋆˙⟡ when you whine to ride him he lets you until you start tearing up after a minute and then he just bounces you up and down on his cock while your tears slip out from how big he feels at this angle
⋆˙⟡ would rather eat you out then have you suck his dick, doesn’t like when you’re choking on him but will let you if you beg
⋆˙⟡ loves using toys with you and he has all pink toys just for you, as the cutest plug for you with a diamond on it
The salt spray hit your face as Geto gunned the jetski forward, the engine roaring beneath you. His chest pressed firm against your back, one arm looped around your waist to keep you steady while his other hand twisted the throttle. The Mediterranean stretched out endless and glittering under the July sun, the coast of southern Italy a hazy line of cliffs and hidden coves behind you.
“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?”
You laughed breathlessly, clenching around his softening cock. “Rocks. Definitely the rocks.”
john knew he’d flown too close to the sun once you began creeping into his lap.
the corner booth at the back is dark, shrouded in a blanket the lights over the bar don’t quite reach — which would normally be the point, and maybe it still is. but john hadn’t anticipated a sweet thing like you. and certainly hadn’t anticipated you crawling over him expectantly.
normally he grabs a pint or two, flirts with the nearest woman for an hour, heads home. there isn’t much of a point of pushing it further anymore.
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.”
a laugh huffs out of him. the knot behind his ribs doesn’t loosen all the way — but it gives him room to breathe, and that’s more than he’s had in a while.
pushing katsuki away after you cum despite wanting nothing more than to have him smother you with his insane body but you’re too hot to have this million degree skin touching you. it’s the middle of summer, your body temp already running way to high for your comfort and now youre hot and sweaty and sticky and your heart is jumping out of your chest and you cant handle the heat rippling from him.
“kats…you…” you pushing him away, swatting at his massive shoulders but it does nothing. “away. too hot.”
you’re not making sense but it’s because your head is still spinning and blood is rushing in your ears.
“why are you pushing me-hey!”
“too hot. i’m- suki move.” with two hands you shove weakly against his chest and despite not having the strength to move him, he follows your shove and rolls onto his back beside you. “too hot. i feel hot.”
nonsense spills from you mouth as you breath deeply, gulping down cold fresh air (it’s hot air but it’s not straight from the lungs of your boyfriend air and that’s exactly what your body needs) vision that had been darkening begins to clear, your head swirling less dramatically.
the mattress shifts beneath you and the next thing you feel is a cold towel pressed against your cheeks. the relief is instantaneous, a sigh punching from your lungs as you feel another cold rag on your bare chest. soaking cotton is dragged over your stomach, down your thighs and over your calves before it is brought back up to your chest.
“better?” katsuki mumbles from beside you, his large hands wiping your searing skin cool with each pass of the towel.
your response is a pleased hum, lazy smile blooming.
your boyfriend continues to swipe cold lines over your heated skin, cleaning up the mess between you thighs in the process.
“need water?”
“mm-hmm.”
“snack?”
“mm-mm”
a water bottle is pressed to your lips. “drink.”
your eyes flutter open to see katsuki above you, red eyes half lidded in contentment. lips wrap around the straw, sucking down ice cold water to soothe the inner fire racing through your veins. he waits until youre done then takes a drink after you.
“almost made me pass out.” you mumble, fingers reaching out to trace random patterns across his muscled thigh.
“from heat or sex?”
“sex.” you dig your fingers into scarred flesh. “then heat but that was cause of the great sex.”
a/n: idk how to end this. the writers block is so real rn
"I Like'em Big" - Simon "GHOST" Riley x reader (sfw)
Summary: Y/N wears Simon's hoodie, wears her hair down for the first time, and Simon doesn't know what to do with himself.
Word Count: 2800+
Warnings: military reader, 141 interactions, bar shenanigans, alcohol consumption, reader has long hair, Simon being completely enamoured by reader, he's a big softie for her, fluff
a/n: not proofread. Hope this wasn't OOC for Ghost, I really tried to keep him as himself from the 2019 Modern Warfare game.
Main Masterlist
Surprisingly, the ride back to base wasn't filled with the usual silence that coincided with exhaustion. Instead, it was filled with the sounds of celebration and joking quips, mostly from Gaz and Soap but the others were listening, amused by their antics.
"I say we head to the bar, just outside the base." Soap suggested, giddiness clear in his tone.
Gaz nudged him, "That sounds good, brother."
Soap then turned his attention to Price, "What do ye say, Captain? You in?"
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.
part 2.5 of big dog owner katsuki part 3 coming soon (when i have the motivation) honey is a replacement for y/n cause i fucking hate writing y/n with a burning passion
Big man dynamight is scared. Scared to leave the car and enter the dog park with his, now annoyed and howling shiba, because he spotted you the second he pulled up to the small park. It was the pink of your jacket that caught his eyes, the bright pale rose stark against the darkness of late evening, and as he spotted your hair, then your face, it had his ass firmly planted in the seat of his car. He should not be this scared, he fights villains every day for fucks sake but all of a sudden the girl who rejected his blatant flirting is enough to have him shaking in his boots? Who is he? He should march right up to you and tell you exactly what he thinks of you! Rude, arrogant, and kinda bitchy woman who didn’t even thank him for saving you the other weekend. But that's not the part that stung, it was the brazen disregard for him and his attempt at flirting, his endeavour to neutralise the disdain and hopefully get another friendlier feeling to replace it.
Rude. Bitchy. Mean. Completely dismissive of him. So hot. Too hot. So alluringly captivating in the meanest way possible it had his body temperature spiking and his head all fuzzy.
Big man dynamite is whipped.
—
It’s too cold to be out. Way too fucking cold to be outside in the middle of the night (seven pm) in some fuckass dimly lit park (your local dog park). You should be in bed, cozied up with a hot chocolate and the latest episode of that horribly acted drama (you know the one) but you are first and foremost a dog mum, and it is your duty to provide enrichment to your pup so here you are, toes and fingers frozen, nose red and running but your pup is the happiest you’ve seen him in a while. He’s older, getting up there in years and while it is draining to come home from work and immediately go out again, his life is too short to miss out on fun because ‘mummy’s too tired from work’
The sound of the gate opening has your attention pulling from your dog running circles in the dew soaked grass. You know the drill.
Recall.
Leash.
Exit before there are any issues.
“I’ll be out in a sec, just lemme grab-” you look over to the fence and your blood begins to boil. “You.”
Bakugou Katsuki, as he so arrogantly introduced himself, stands in the smaller gated off area, his shiba in a perfect heel at his feet. Motherfucker even has his dog trained perfectly.
“You can go somewhere else, I'm not leaving.”
“Huh?” the blond shouts over. “It’s a public park, you can’t stop me from coming in.”
He jiggles the latch on the gate.
Your heart rate spikes.
“Grab your little thing or chance it, but i’ve got just as much of a right to be here.” he fiddles with the gate latch again, giving you time to call your dog over.
He’s playing chicken. you’re sure of it. no way is a prohero going to chance a potential scandal at a dog park of all places but then again, he isn’t like other pros. ZERO media training (or maybe he’s had some and he just doesn’t give a fuck) and enough run is with the press to make whatever might happen here a regular tuesday in the office.
You stare him down, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, blood boiling.
He flicks the latch once more.
Your dog turns, eyes locked on the blond and his dog.
Fuck.
You cave.
“Let us leave and then come in”
“Soybean!” you shout, tone high and happy as you jingle the lead. “Come on, angel, let’s go.”
You watch as your little furball turns their attention to you, eyes bright and excited at the mention of returning home. He bounds through the grass all thoughts of running up to a dog twice his size gone from his little pea brain as he siddles up to you, turning to the side for easier latching of the lead to his harness. You wonder about his past owners who had loved him enough to train him so well and how he had ended up in the shelter before you found him. Sweet, sweet little old man.
You can feel the weight of the prohero’s stare on your back as you bend to pick up your pup, the weight of him nothing in your arms as you begin to head for the other exit. A shiver runs the length of your skin, and you swear it's from the cold, and not from the intense gaze the blond has on you, his vermillion eyes following you every move until you are outside of the main park, firmly secured behind the safety of the fence, and only then does he walk through his gate.
“Hey,” you hear him call, voice carried away by the winter wind.
He tries again, and you ignore him once more,
But it's the third call that has you turning, standing from your crouched position after letting your dog back on the floor.
“Hey, Lady.”
You spin on your heels.
“Lady?”
Bakugou balks, brows raising for a fraction of a second before he schools himself into neutrality.
“Ma’am? Miss?”
“Honey,” you offer your name.
Bakugou’s furrowed brow softens. “Honey,” he repeats with a tone of warm greeting, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I want to introduce myself properly.”
You watch him walk closer, all pretence of prohero gone in the softness of the comfy clothes, the flattened hair, the gentle slope of a smirk gracing his perfect face.
Despite having your arms crossed across your chest and facial expression screaming “danger!beware! he approaches the fence without a hint of trepidation.
“I-“ he clears his throat, hand coming to rest on the metal between your bodies. “my name is-“
“Katsuki right?” you interject, pointing a manicured finger at him.
“You remember?” a smirk begins to round his cheeks. “Thought you mighta forgotten m-“
“Google’s free.”
“You googled me?”
His smirk grows.
“Wanted to make sure I had the right hero when i made my complaint to the board.” a lie.
there’s no complaint. never has been, never will be.
You remember his name. remember him too well. the feel of his hard chest beneath your hand, the warmth of his ridiculously jacked body, the delicious smell of sugar that encompassed you as he lent into your space, fuck. no. not now!
Bakugou’s face drops, his brows furrowing.
“Complaint? I saved your ass! what’s there to complain about?” he points his finger at you, accusation and irritation in the gesture.
“The way you barked at me last week? or do you not remember?” you tilt your head, tonguing your cheek as you watch his jaw clench. “I don’t have an issue with dynamight, i have an issue with katsuki.”
“So you sent in a complaint instead of talking to me in person?”
“In the two conversations we’ve had, both times you’ve had a bad attitude and offered to fight, so yes. I did go to your bosses to complain,” you cross your arms over your chest, brows raising in challenge. “you might be a good hero but that doesn’t give you the right to act like a dick out of uniform.”
“You think i’m a good hero?”
“That’s not the point.”
Katsuki chuckles. “it’s the only point i care about.”
Your jaw clenches, skin heating with both irritation and attraction. god fucking damn this beautiful annoying fuck of a man.
“You’re an asshole, i hope you know that.” you seethe, willing the racing for your heart to steer away from desire and into rage.
Bakugou throws his head back with a laugh and you catch a glint of his teeth, the perfect canines glinting into the light. how good would they feel sinking into the nape of your neck, or the plush of your thigh? is he as rough as a fuck as he seems? no. NO!
“Ohh I know, sweetheart.” he swipes his tongue over hos teeth as if he had heard your thoughts.
“Don’t call me that.” you snap for no reason other than self preservation. “i have a name and you know it, so use it.”
Names are friendly. professional. there is no air of flirting or risk of attractive if he only called you by your name. a very smart, proper decision.
Vermillion eyes narrow at your tone.
“But can I call you?” the question confuses you.
“If you use my name, yes. i’m cant stop you but at least when you-“
“No, honey. can i call you?” his emphasis on the verb has your spine straightening.
“Why would you-“
He interrupts again. “i’m asking for your number.”
૮꒰˶•༝ •˶꒱ა♡ Husband Toji! taking care of your pregnant self while you sleep!
You woke up briefly when a warm hand brushed against your shoulder.
“baby…”
His voice was rough with sleep.
You barely managed a confused noise before he carefully slid an arm beneath you and guided you onto your side.
You blinked. “What are you doing?”
“You were on your back again.”
“I’m comfortable.”
“I know.” He tucked a pillow behind you so you wouldn’t roll over immediately. “But i read that’s not how you’re supposed to sleep right now.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “You read one article”
“I read six.”
His hand settled over your hip for a second, making sure you stayed on your side before pulling the blanket back over you.
“Go back to sleep.”
A few minutes later, after he’d drifted off, you rolled onto your back again.
The next thing you knew, he was half-awake mumbling something unintelligible as he gently nudged you back onto your side without opening his eyes.
It had become a habit.
Every time he caught you sleeping on your back, he’d quietly reposition you, fluff your pillows, kiss your forehead, and fall asleep again like a man personally assigned to guard both you and the baby.
[𝝑𝑒] :: true form!sukuna finds out his favorite pregnant concubine is injured :: tags. fluff, angst, reader gets called ‘woman’ :: ac. @/greybookman on x
you want that damn scroll.
one of the old texts on yokai lore sukuna left half-unrolled on a high shelf days ago. boredom and the restless energy of pregnancy drives you to it. standing on the tips of your toes, with one hand braced against the lacquered cabinet, you stretch up.
your belly, round and full at nearly eight months, shifts heavily. the baby kicks hard as if protesting.
“just... a little more—“
the wood creaks. your foot slips on the woven tatami mat and then the world tilts.
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.”
sukuna's voice was unfairly sexy. and when i say unfairly i mean it's really unfair to sound so hot when asking or saying something that should be normal. he doesn't really understand where you're coming from — but you swear his voice lowers anytime he's serious, with that sharp edge and yet trying to sound gentle at the same time.
his voice usually sounds the hottest when you're injured — doesn't really matter if it's because you fell on your own or someone else hurt you. when you're alone with him for no one else to see he sits you on the couch and knees infront of you — something he would never openly do infront of anyone but his wife — taking your injured ankle in his hand, analysing the severity of it while literally talking you through it — asking questions almost tenderly.
you're sitting there silent, appreciating the situation even while being hurt — it's not everyday he's so compassionate. the man inbetween your legs is gently touching the wound, thumb brushing where it looks the worst. and then like always, his voice dips deeper like he's more bothered — maybe even worried, about you being in pain than yourself "does it hurt here?" his fingers thighten just enough for you to feel the pressure, making you nod with a frown on your face.
"what about here? it hurts, yeah?" he's applying the same pressure and it stings way worse than the other point — you wince, leg flinching slightly at the feeling — it's not a obvious movement but he notices anyway. "mhmm i see. my poor wife. i will get uraume to tend to your injury. after you're done i excpect you to come find me and tell me how you're feeling."
there it is — his voice sounding strangely comforting for such a scary man — but there's nothing scary about the way he gets on his knees to tend to your injury, or his almost soft voice distracing you from the pain. and somehow, your cheeks getting warm from the intensity of it — the tone he's using usually reserved for the bedroom and yet — it has the same heat.
you just nod — barely listening to what he's actually saying — wanting nothing more for him to keep babying you like he always does no matter the seriousness of the injury. maybe you should start saying it hurts between your legs...
