you’re stretched across connie’s lap like you belong there, legs draped over the arm of the couch while your phone glows in your hand. the tv is on but he isn’t really watching the game. he’s watching you. his hand rests on your thigh, thumb moving back and forth in an absent rhythm. he studies the curl of your lashes, the way your lip juts just a little when you’re focused, and the shine of your gloss that smudges on the straw of your drink.
connie notices everything. he always does. when he leans closer and tilts your chin just a little, his eyes linger before he even speaks. “your lashes thinnin’ out, mami. time for a refill.” his voice is quiet, not teasing. it’s the same way he always says things when it comes to you—matter of fact, like he’s just reminding you of something you forgot.
you laugh under your breath, though the sound is soft and pleased. he always catches the small things. you can miss your own reflection in the mirror but connie never does. if your nails are chipped, he notices. if your hair needs a touch up, he points it out. not because he’s critical but because he likes keeping you polished. he likes knowing you’re his spoiled girl even if no one calls it that out loud.
and you are spoiled. connie makes sure of it. he covers appointments before you even think to ask. he hands you cash folded neat and doesn’t wait for a thank you. when you’re quiet, he knows what to order. when you’re in a mood, he knows when to leave you alone and when to pull you closer.
sometimes you hate how much he knows you because it makes it harder to hide. jealousy never sits easy on you. you tell yourself it shouldn’t matter, that he can talk to other girls if he wants to because you’re not together. still, the thought gnaws.
connie feels it before you say a word. the weight in your silence is different. he feels it in the way your leg twitches against his, in the way you lock your phone too fast. his eyes lower, then meet yours. he knows.
“you mad at me again,” he says. it isn’t a question.
you shift against him, trying to look unbothered. “you can do what you want.”
he exhales like he knows exactly what you’re pouting about. his head tilting as his gaze lingers on your face. “don’t do that, baby.” he smooths a hand up your thigh, steady and grounding. “you know i don’t care about them girls. i care about you.”
the words sink heavy because you know it’s true. connie could talk to anyone but he doesn’t. not after the last time. he tried once, just to prove to himself that he could. it ended with you ignoring his calls for days, your attitude cutting sharper than you meant it to. he hated it. hated how empty the space between you felt, hated how restless he got not hearing your voice. that was the first and last time he ever tested the line.
now he watches you pout into his chest, lashes brushing his shirt, hair smelling like coconut. he presses his lips to the top of your head and murmurs against your skin, “you my princesa. nobody else. just you.”
connie never lets your moods scare him off. if anything he almost looks entertained when you sulk in his lap, face tucked into his chest like you’re trying to make him pay for whatever’s bothering you. he strokes your back with slow, steady motions, the kind that make it impossible to stay tense for long.
“you stay mad at me,” he says quietly, his breath brushing over the top of your head. his voice isn’t sharp. it’s soft and teasing, the way he always talks when he knows you’re about to give in.
you hum into his shirt, refusing to lift your face. “because you give me reasons.”
“mami,” he murmurs, sliding his hand under your chin to tilt your head up. his eyes catch the light from the tv, steady and warm as they linger on you. “don’t act like i don’t treat you right. i know you.”
you hate how easily he reads you, how your pout doesn’t last more than a second when he looks at you like that. you try to roll your eyes but he catches it, smiling like he’s won.
“lashes tomorrow,” he says simply, pulling his phone out with one hand while you’re still in his lap. “and nails on friday. i’ll text your girl.”
“i was gonna do it myself,” you mutter, even though you weren’t.
“nah.” he kisses your cheek, thumbs tapping across his screen. “you too spoiled for that. i handle it.”
you sink further into him, hiding your smile against his neck. he always does this—takes care of things before you even realize you want them. it’s frustrating in a way because it makes your fake attitude harder to keep up.
“you’re still annoying,” you mumble.
he laughs under his breath, phone already locked again. “yeah, but i’m your annoying. and you love me for it.”
the words hang heavy between you because they’re true. you do love him in your own way, even if neither of you names it.
you don’t have to ask. he already knows what you need.
connie’s phone is facedown on the coffee table now, forgotten the second your weight settles comfortably against him again. he always makes space for you, his arm curled around your waist, his hand rubbing along your side like it’s second nature. his focus is never split when it comes to you.
“when’s the last time you ate?” he asks after a moment, voice low against your temple.
you blink, shrugging like you’re trying to think. “i had coffee this morning.”
he gives you a look that makes you roll your eyes before you even see it fully. “coffee don’t count. you want me to cook or you want me to order something?”
you murmur into his shirt, “you cook.”
that’s all he needs. within minutes he’s shifting you off his lap and into the corner of the couch, tossing you the blanket you like before heading to the kitchen. you watch him move around with the kind of ease that tells you this isn’t new. pots, pans, seasonings—he knows where everything is because he’s used to doing this for you.
while he cooks, he checks in again without turning his head. “you still stressed about that thing with your sister?”
your lips part in surprise, though you shouldn’t be. you never told him directly, just dropped a sigh here and there on the phone a few nights ago. “how you even remember that?”
he glances back over his shoulder, smirking. “’cause i listen, baby. unlike you, i pay attention.”
your laugh slips out even though you try to hold it in. it’s annoying how well he knows you, how easily he can break through your moods.
twenty minutes later, there’s a plate in your lap before you can protest. he makes sure your drink is topped off, makes sure you’re settled under the blanket again, then drops down beside you with his own plate. when you don’t eat right away, he nudges your thigh with his knee until you give in and take the first bite.
“see?” he says, satisfied when you hum at the taste. “i know what i’m doin’.”
you roll your eyes but lean into him anyway, chewing slow, comfort filling more than just your stomach.
the rest of the night moves the same way it always does. he cleans up the kitchen without asking. he reminds you to plug in your phone because he noticed the battery was low. when you wander to the bathroom, you come back to see he’s already pulled up your lash girl’s number and your nail tech’s page, both appointments penciled in with your name.
it isn’t flashy. it isn’t loud. it’s just connie taking care of you in every way he knows how.
and when you stretch out on him again, belly full and mood softer, his arm wraps around you without hesitation. “that’s better,” he murmurs against your hair. “my princesa don’t gotta lift a finger for nothin’.”
and the truth is, you don’t. not with him.
the city moves slow outside the windows, neon bleeding into the night sky while connie steers one handed. you’re tucked against him, head resting on his shoulder, your cheek pillowed on his forearm where he’s angled it just for you. his thumb strokes lazy circles against your skin while the speakers hum with whatever playlist he threw on.
at every stoplight he leans in, kissing the top of your head or your temple, sometimes even the corner of your mouth when you tilt your face just right. it’s casual and natural. like breathing.
you hum when you see a gas station up ahead, eyes barely open. “i want a slushie.”
he glances down at you, amused. “princesa, you don’t even finish ’em.”
“don’t matter,” you mumble, tightening your hold on his arm. “i want one.”
he laughs, the sound low and fond, already signaling to pull in. “alright. what flavor?”
“blue. with a little red at the bottom.”
“complicated ass,” he mutters, but there’s no heat. just that quiet tone he always has when he’s about to spoil you anyway.
he parks and kisses your forehead before sliding out. you watch him disappear inside, shoulders loose, moving with that easy confidence you love. when he comes back, he’s got not just the slushie but your favorite chips and candy too, the kind he knows you’ll want later when you’re curled up in his bed.
“i didn’t ask for all that,” you tease, taking the cup from him.
“don’t gotta ask.” he leans in, kisses your cheek, then gets back behind the wheel like it’s nothing.
the drive continues like that. you sip your slushie while he rubs your leg, music soft in the background. he takes the long way just so you don’t have to move from your spot too soon. when you mention offhand that you need to grab lashes from the beauty supply, he’s already pulling up directions. when you sigh about forgetting lip gloss, he’s turning toward the beauty store before you can protest.
and through it all he keeps his arm under your chin, hand stroking your face whenever he’s not shifting gears, kissing you at every red light. it’s routine for him—spoiling you, catering to you, making sure you never go without.
you look up at him while he drives, the glow of passing streetlights painting his face in gold. he notices, of course he does, and meets your gaze for just a second before leaning down at the next stop, pressing his lips against yours like he couldn’t wait.
“what?” he asks when he pulls back, smiling at your dazed look.
“nothing,” you say softly, leaning against him again. “just love my driver.”
he chuckles, his arm tightening around you as the light turns green. “nah, baby. you love your connie.”
and you do. more than you ever let yourself admit out loud.
you’re still sipping the last of your slushie when connie pulls into his driveway. it’s quiet, the street lit dimly, the hum of his car fading when he cuts the engine. he leans over before you can move, stealing one last kiss just because he can.
“come on, princesa,” he murmurs, pulling your straw from the cup and tossing it aside. “let’s get you inside.”
you follow him, already anticipating the way his house always smells like fresh laundry and his cologne. it’s comfort at this point. his home feels like your own space too, even if neither of you ever called it that out loud.
you’re halfway to the door when headlights sweep across the driveway. another car pulls up too close, music rattling cheap speakers, and before you can ask, a girl stumbles out. heels clacking, voice pitched too high, the smell of alcohol spilling out with her laugh.
“constance!” she calls, dragging his full name like she owns it. “damn, you ain’t answer your phone, boy.”
your chest tightens, though you try to school your face. you’ve never seen her before but the way she walks up, familiar, half drunk and confident, tells you everything you need to know.
before you, there were girls like her. maybe girls he spoiled the same way he spoils you. maybe girls who sat in his passenger seat, who leaned their heads on his shoulder, who thought the same things you do now.
the thought stings, even if you don’t want it to.
connie’s jaw ticks, his arm subtly sliding in front of you like a barrier. “nah, you wildin’,” he mutters at the girl. “what you even doin’ here?”
“i just wanted to see you,” she slurs, smiling too wide. “you used to—”
“used to,” he cuts in, sharp this time. “key word. that’s dead.”
you stay quiet, standing half a step behind him, your throat tight with a pout you don’t want him to see. it shouldn’t matter. he’s not your boyfriend. technically, he can’t cheat. but watching her wobble in his driveway, calling his name like that, is enough to make your stomach twist.
the girl stares at you then, finally noticing. her expression flickers. maybe recognition. maybe jealousy. whatever it is, it’s quick before she scoffs and turns back to connie. “so this why you been actin’ brand new?”
“yeah,” he says flat, no hesitation. “this is why. so take your ass home.”
she mutters something under her breath but heads back to her car, tires screeching as she pulls off. the silence after is heavy.
connie turns to you, reaching for your chin. you try to move back but he catches you anyway, thumb brushing your cheek. “baby, don’t even start with that attitude. you know i don’t want none of that.”
you bite your lip, eyes low. “yeah, but you did once.”
his hand tilts your face up until you meet his stare. steady, unblinking. “and now i got you. i don’t recycle, princesa. when i’m done, i’m done. you the only one i’m takin’ care of.”
the words hit deeper than you expect, grounding and dangerous all at once. because in your heart, connie is yours. even if the world says he’s not.
you don’t say anything as he unlocks the door, just slip inside with your bag on your shoulder. connie follows, but he can feel the shift in your silence. it’s not the soft quiet you give him when you’re tired. this one is sharp, sulking, the kind that hangs off you like a storm.
he sets his keys down, glances at you standing in the middle of his living room with your arms crossed, lashes low over your eyes.
“you mad,” he says simply like it’s a routine for him everytime he notices your quietness.
“i’m not mad,” you reply too fast. your voice is clipped, heavy with the exact thing you’re denying.
he smirks a little but it doesn’t last. he walks over, slow and steady, until he’s standing close enough for his cologne to wrap around you. “princesa. don’t lie to me.”
you roll your eyes and shift away but he catches your wrist, thumb brushing the inside of it like he always does when he wants you to relax. “she just pulled up, drunk and stupid. that’s not on me.”
“but she felt comfortable enough to do it,” you snap back, pulling your hand free. “like… she knew she could. like you let her think that was okay once.”
connie sighs, dragging his hand down his face. “you really gon do this right now?”
your voice wobbles even though you try to keep it sharp. “maybe i don’t wanna be somebody else on your list of girls who think they matter until you move on.”
his head snaps up at that, eyes narrowing. “nah. don’t play with me like that.” his voice is firmer now, the easy tone gone. “you think i treat everybody how i treat you?” he steps closer, chest brushing yours. “you think i book appointments, run errands, hold you when you sleep, kiss you at every red light—for everybody?”
you swallow hard, but the jealous sting in your chest won’t die. “how am i supposed to know? she looked at me like i was just another one.”
he exhales, long and heavy, before cupping your face in both hands. his palms are warm, steady, pulling your gaze to his no matter how much you want to look away. “listen to me. i don’t care how she looked at you. i don’t care what she thought she had. she don’t got me. you do.”
your lip trembles, just a little, and his thumb catches it. “don’t you get it, baby? i can’t even stand the idea of you upset with me. if you left, i’d feel that. nobody else ever had me like that.”
the tension breaks a little, the weight in your chest loosening under his stare. it doesn’t erase the jealousy, but it makes it harder to hold onto.
“say you believe me,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead to yours. “say it so i don’t gotta keep explaining what you already know.”
you breathe out shaky, caught between stubborn and soft. “…i believe you.”
his lips tug up, satisfied and he kisses you before you can take it back. the kind of kiss that leaves no room for doubt. it steals the last bit of fight in your chest, and when he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes are steady and soft in a way that makes your stomach flip.
“good,” he says, low like a promise. “’cause you know i don’t do all this for anybody else. you’re my princesa, even if you don’t wanna admit it right now.”
you want to argue, to tell him he doesn’t get to decide what you are to him, but the truth sits heavy in your chest. his hand drops to your lower back, guiding you inside toward his bedroom and he doesn’t let go until you’re curled up against him in his sheets with your cheek pressed to his shirt.
the rest of the night hums quiet. he doesn’t push for more words, just strokes his hand over your hair, letting you settle into the warmth of him. the earlier sharpness fades, leaving only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear.
it’s not a label. it’s not a promise. but it’s enough for now and the way he holds you makes it feel like it might be more.
after that night in the driveway, the one where the drunk girl from connie’s past tried to stumble her way back into his life, something in you shifted. the way he’d shut her down, sharp and final, then turned to you like you were the only one that mattered, it stuck in your chest. it made it harder to keep your distance, harder to remind yourself this wasn’t official. so you stopped trying.
at first, it was small things. you started reaching for his hand more when you two were out, tucking your fingers between his as you walked through parking lots or leaned against him waiting for food. you pressed kisses to his jaw when he was driving, tracing the line of his tattoos with your lips just because you could. you climbed into his lap while he played his game, nudging his controller out of the way until his arms wrapped around you without complaint. every time, he let you.
connie noticed, of course. he noticed everything about you. noticed when your lashes were lifting and you needed a refill, when you were quiet in a way that wasn’t your usual, when your gloss had worn off and you were digging in your bag for another. now, he noticed the way your touches lingered longer, the way you left little pieces of yourself in his space. lashes on his sink, your bonnet looped around his headboard, lip gloss rolling under the passenger seat. your perfume sunk into his pillows, his hoodies started disappearing into your closet.
he never said a word. never reminded you this wasn’t that kind of thing. instead, he leaned into it. let it happen.
sex changed too. before, it was already good—better than good—but now you were bolder. you tested him, pushed him, whispered filth in his ear that made him pause mid thrust just to laugh low against your neck.
like the night you climbed on top of him, slow grind in the glow of his bedside lamp, your skirt pushed up around your waist. his hands spread over your thighs while you rolled your hips, your nails dragging over his chest.
“fuck, baby,” he groaned, head tipping back against the pillow. “you ridin’ like you tryna kill me.”
“maybe,” you teased, but your voice hitched when he pinched your nipple through your tank. “you love it pa?”
his smirk stretched wide, that drowsy look he always got when he knew he had you. “fuck—yeah, i love it. love watchin’ my princesa take what she want.”
you leaned forward, lips brushing his ear as you whispered something filthy about where you wanted his cum. his grip on your waist tightened instantly, dragging you down harder, his breath stuttering against your shoulder.
“goddamn,” he muttered, thrusting up into you now, snapping his hips so the slap of skin echoed in the room. “you get freakier every time, huh? nasty ass.”
you only smiled, clenching around him in response, dragging his name from his throat in a way that left him cursing, holding you down on his cock like he’d never let you go.
it became a pattern. more sex, more intensity, more ways you tested what he’d do if you pushed. and every time, he matched you. spoiled you in bed the same way he spoiled you outside of it—focused and attentive, like your body was the only thing that existed.
but it wasn’t just behind closed doors. pda slipped into the routine too.
at the mall one afternoon, he walked with his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, thumb brushing the curve of your ass like it was second nature. you leaned into him, grinning when he kissed the side of your head like it didn’t matter who saw.
later, outside his car, you leaned back against the door while he bent down to kiss you, deep and unhurried. people walked by, some glancing, some staring, but neither of you cared. you pulled at his shirt just to keep him close, lips swollen when you finally let him go.
“you gon make me late,” he murmured against your mouth, though his hand still rested on your hip, not moving.
“so?” you teased, tilting your head up for another kiss. “you like it.”
he chuckled, kissing you again just to prove you right.
sometimes it bled onto social media too. not full couple posts but little glimpses. a video of your manicured hand holding his chin while he drove, captionless. a mirror selfie in his bathroom with his chain glinting at your throat. a picture of him on his couch with your legs stretched across his lap, your anklet in frame.
most of the time it was you posting but every once in a while he’d slip something onto his story. nothing obvious but enough. the side of your face in the passenger seat, the curve of your nails around a bottle he bought, your voice laughing off camera. sneaky link coded, but too consistent, too soft around the edges, like something more.
and the people in his circle noticed. comments, dms, little jokes from his boys. none of it made him pull back. if anything, it made him double down.
one night after a long day, you were sprawled on his bed in one of his tshirts, phone in your hand as you scrolled. he came in fresh from the shower, towel slung low and leaned over to kiss your forehead.
“you settlin’ in like you live here,” he teased, but there was no edge in his voice.
“maybe i do,” you shot back, grinning up at him.
he just shook his head but his smile gave him away. he didn’t correct you. he never did.
and that was the thing—you both knew what this was supposed to be, what it wasn’t. but the way he held you in public, the way he let you take space in his life, the way you let yourself believe it all—made it feel like you’d already crossed the line.
FUCK ICE, free palestine, free congo, FUCK trump, FUCK musk, no one is illegal on stolen land, and if u disagree, FUCK YOU TOO!!!
i’ve said this before but if u support that fuckass orange in office, idc if ur a silent follower or ur like is ur only form of interacting with me, just know, i don’t want it!!! and u are a terrible person!!! 😛
Contrary to belief Bakugo isn’t a huge hot headed asshole lmao, he’s a silly non chalant guy.
Well he is as a boyfriend.
He engages in your silly pranks and yappathons all day while also just sitting down and listening.
Laying down on your bed with his eyes going from your tv screen back to you pacing back and fourth about stuff that annoyed you all day—
“Like what do you mean people are trying to NORMALIZE CHEATING?? You know (insert name of a person you don’t like) fucking said that all relationships are pointless, because it’s only a manner of time before I get bored and fuck somebody else?”
“They’re fucking stupid.”
“I KNOW!!”
He doesn’t yell at you, he of course has his passive aggressiveness still, but he never showed any anger. His face constantly looking relaxed around you.
Sometimes he even has his moments of yapping and you sit and listen.
“Stupid ass fan tried to kiss me, but I GOT THE HEAT FOR IT WHEN I PUSHED HER DOWN. I thought no means fucking no in this stupid ass country why can’t people respect that shit.”
“You want me to find her and beat her ass. Because I can.”
He laughed, genuinely considering, “Nah. Save that for a fan that tries to kiss either of us. I think her falling on her ass was enough.”
You kinda turn off your brain around him. Acting careless and having your guard down while you are in public, because you know Bakugo will protect you. He knows this and doesn’t mind at all, he just watches you as you twirl and prance around the sidewalk yapping about whatever and still is able to recite every VOWEL you said back to you if you feel if he’s not listening.
You were his favorite person to just watch. Is it a bit obsessive how much he enjoys you being yourself and just simply living? maybe. who cares though you’re all his to admire.
hiiii! I’ve been in such a funk since I lost my wips 🥲 but it feels good to be writing again! Thank you all for 700 followers 🥹🫶🏾 it’s crazy cause I was just celebrating 500!
Also, I’m obsessed with this tiny font :)
Warnings: smut, dilf bakugo, milf reader, afab reader, black coded! reader, mutual pining, baby mentioned, breast feeding mentioned, unprotected sex, creampie, lactation kink, pet name usage (ex. baby, mama, papa), excuse any mistakes, MDNI!
Word count: undetermined
❀
Babydaddy!Bakugo who's stopping by to pick up his son Katsumi from your place. He scans the vicinity, still as quiet as usual but he does notice someone’s finally moved into the townhouse adjacent to yours.
He’s not sure if it’s a man or woman, and he’s not comfortable with it, especially since it’s just you and ‘Sumi here. He made a note to get someone at the agency to check them out.
He’s standing there for about a minute until you’re opening up the door with the baby attached to your tit in a tight fitting sun dress, just begging him to run his hands all over you. He’s undressing you with his eyes, not that the dress leaves anything to imagine anyway.
“Come on so you don’t let any flies in. He was fussing real bad so l'm feeding him, I'll be done in a second."
He just nods, it's all he can do as he stares, mesmerized. He doesn’t mind anyway, he isn’t in any kind of rush.
It never gets old—seeing you be a mommy. Seeing you care for the beautiful being the two of you created. Makes him fall in love with you all over again. It’s also a bonus being able to call you a milf.
He hands you a vanilla parfait from the cafe he gets his coffee from, remembers you used to love them before ‘Sumi, hopes you still do.
“Thank you.”
You didn’t have much of an appetite, taste testing your different dishes in the midst of preparing Sunday dinner has you a little full so you opt for picking the fruit off your parfait.
“No problem, you’re running a dairy farm over here, gotta keep ya fed.” “Are you calling me a cow?”
“I’m not wrong.”
Your kid has one breast occupied, the other is stuffed in the electric pump. You’re not sure if you’ve gotten used to being ‘milked’ as Katsuki usually calls it, but it certainly feels better than letting the milk swell inside.
It’s safe to say you got this parenting thing down fairly quickly, or at least it seemed like you did. Time moved fast, your baby nearing six months already. He doesn't see much of you anymore, just those days when it's time for him to get the little brat or drop him back off.
He's not sure how things got the way they were—seems like just yesterday you were about to be his wife and now, things were just complicated. The two of you were high school sweethearts, first everything’s, now well into your late twenties with a baby. There was no infidelity involved in the split, just a matter of you two not seeing eye to eye, butting heads far too often for comfort. He admits it’s his fault, but he truly meant no harm, just wanted to protect his family.
But, he still loves the hell out of you. Hopes you still love him too. And even if you don't, he'll still love you. You gave him his child, after all.
That little boy is his pride and joy. He's the cutest thing he's ever laid eyes on, a chunky little nugget with rolls everywhere and now he has a double chin. Obviously didn’t miss any meals.
Katsumi's the perfect mix of the two of you. His complexion has settled as the months passed by, darkening to a deep golden tan, a head full of thick curly hair and of course his daddy's angry red eyes and ever present scowl. He looks like a mean little shit just like his daddy did at his age, except he's literally the sweetest baby, always ready to show those two little teeth in a big smile.
He can't believe he helped create something so precious and most of all he can't believe he created him with you.
“You haven't been sleeping much lately, I can tell."
Time apart didn’t change much, you still knew him like the back of your hand and vice versa.
Babydaddy!Bakugo finds himself seated in one of your bar stools, looking around at your home.
It looks like you’re almost done decorating, and you actually did get that dumb couch you’d been raving about. He takes in the shades of green and cream, the earthy tones accented in, the plants, fluorescent lighting, it’s all so you.
He loves it. Wishes he lived in it with you. Fuck he missed you so bad.
"Schedule change. I work a week on-week off now." Truth is, he hasn’t had a good rest since you left, on top of his new crazy ass schedule he’d be lucky if he got three consecutive hours of sleep a night. And some nights when he had ‘Sumi, he had to forgo sleep completely.
“Damn, that’s a lot. It’s not too much for you? What if you’re too tired for ‘Sumi, he’s rolling over and shit now so you really gotta watch him.”
“Yeah yeah, I’ve been a baby y/n, I know what babies do.”
“Don’t piss me off, that’s not even the same thing.” You take a jab at the side of his head with your finger. “I’m just saying, he’s real active now, I catch him trying to do backflips off the bed at least ten times a day.”
You feel his sucking on your breast slowing, signs that he’s done with his feeding.
“I hear ya, y/n. I‘m not gonna let him crack his skull open on my watch.”
“Good, best daddy ever.” You roll your eyes playfully but you mean your words wholeheartedly. Regardless of the situation between you two, Katsuki was so helpful and supportive now that ‘Sumi was actually here, and he made this co-parenting thing so much easier than you thought it’d be.
Katsumi pulls away from you, easing his head away until your nipple is no longer in his mouth. He hears Katsuki but he can’t see him, tossing his head back and moving it side to side until he finally lays eyes on his daddy.
One of his tiny hands is clinging to the thin strap of your dress while the other makes grabbies at Katsuki.
“You wanna come to Papa?” He asks, the big grin on his face is so precious.
Bakugo washes his hands with cold water, drying them off before he gently grabs him from you, laying him over his shoulder to burp him. He catches the little bit he spit up with the bib, and hands it to you to swap for a clean one.
He sits Katsumi on the counter, pretending to punch him with his own little fists and it sends him into a fit of giggles and screams.
"You got anything going on today?" You’re leaned against the counter, just watching the two of them. It brings a smile to your face, one you quickly drop before he could realize it cause it almost feels wrong to enjoy it.
"Nah, mom wants to see em' so we're gonna head over. That's all though, you?"
“Nothing today, but I’m going clothes shopping for ‘Sumi soon, tomorrow or Tuesday.”
“Yeah? Already?”
You nod your head as you lift the lids on your pots, stirring one more time before turning the burners off.
“Yeah, I didn’t think he’d be growing out of all his stuff so damn soon. I was thinking we could pick out some of the neutral stuff for Denki and Jirou. Donate the rest to the hospital.”
Now that he’s really looking at it, the onesie is a little tighter around his thighs. His baby boy is growing so fast it almost brings tears to his eyes. Soon enough he’ll be crawling, then walking and then college—he couldn’t even fathom the thought of his little nugget going to college!
He disregards his manic thoughts when he hears your voice again. “Maybe we can go together..you can hold the bags like you used to…if you want to, and if you have time, of course.”
“Of course I do, I’ll make time.”
You’re shocked at his enthusiasm because this couldn’t be the same man who’d ‘rather take a slug from Kirishima than get stuck shopping with you.’
But who could blame him, coming home to an empty house for the past couple of months had him going damn near insane. He was craving any kind of contact with you.
Babydaddy!Bakugo who just can't resist your cooking, especially when it meant being in your presence even longer than usual. Now standing at your kitchen island eating the hefty plate you made him, watching you wrap the ones you’re giving him to go for him and his parents. Next you’re tidying up the area and putting the rest of the food up in tupperware bowls.
He's stalking your every move, watching you like a hawk. Like prey. And don't think for one second that he doesn't notice the way your dress gets stuck in between the cheeks of your ass when you bend down to put your clean pots and pans in the cabinet.
He thinks you’re teasing, bets you’re not even wearing panties. Maybe you're innocent, but either way he takes the bait, pressing his crotch against your ass while you’re still bent.
“Katsuki.” You try to keep your voice stern but it doesn’t phase the crimson eyed devil behind you.
“Y/N.” He says your name back just as serious, but you can hear it, the lust oozing from his tongue. It sends chills down your entire being as he rubs up against you, and god you hate being so weak.
Babydaddy!Bakugo who should've only been there to pick up his kid, but instead has you in his lap, palms planted on the round globes of your ass while you’re bouncing on his cock like your life depended on it.
It’s hard to keep a steady pace when he’s lifting you and dropping you back down so hard and fast. You're forced to bite your lip to keep your moans at bay, your son just a few feet away, sleeping in his swing.
“Kid can sleep through an earthquake, lemme hear that pretty voice."
Babydaddy!Bakugo who's still the hot headed idiot he's always been, is only gonna tell you one time. Gives you about a minute or so before he's holding you taut, bucking his hips up into you with the meanest, most devilish grin on his face.
Now you're whining and moaning like an absolute slut.
It makes his dick throb and his balls tighten, pussy clenching around him like a vice.
"Fuck, I miss hearing those sexy sounds."
He's licking and sucking on your nipple, squeezing and kneading until he's tasting that sweet liquid gold coating his taste buds.
"St-stopppp." You're whining and pushing at his head, doing nothing but egging him on. “You're wasting it."
"Nah, Papa's gonna drink it all up." He’s holding you tight, licking at the white beads that dribble from your nipple and fucking up into you so good you start to see spots of white in your vision. He feels the way you go rigid in his arms, the first syllable of his name stuck in your throat, and he knows you’re cumming for him. He doesn’t stop—his strong hips keep bouncing your stiffened figure like you weigh nothing, fucking you through your first orgasm.
Your pussy leaves him coated in your milky white cream, still dribbling onto his lap when he lifts you off.
“Made a mess of me.”
You’re nodding like he asked you a question, it makes him chuckle. “I’m sorry.”
He surely doesn’t mind, especially not with the way he swipes his two fingers through the folds of your cunt, gathering more of that creamy wetness on his hand to stroke at his cock. The loud squelch of his hand rubbing up and down, using it like a lubricant and coating himself in your essence, your scent. It all should’ve been disgusting. Lewd and indecent.
Except it wasn’t.
If anything it turned you on more, an indirect laying of claim, reminding you that he was still yours. God knows you shouldn’t be having those kind of thoughts, not until you two have reached a common ground, but Katsuki knew every which way to push your buttons.
He’s got you on your back now, panting like a dog as he drills your cunt with remnants of your milk trailing down the bottom of his chin.
A hand between your thighs and thumb strumming at your clit while he fucked you had you in a trance. Eyes rolled into the back of your head and your plump bottom lip pulled tightly between your lips. The sheer force and friction of every thrust has your bonnet slipping and sliding until the luscious jet black locks of your wig are free. Fuck it’s so long and pretty and you look like a fucking goddess underneath him. He wishes he could have you like this all day, everyday.
He's not letting up, both of those big hands of his now palming at the back of your thighs as he pushes them flat against the couch, pounding you to oblivion, digging you out like this might be the last time. You pray it's not the last time. You also pray your couch comes clean, he's got your pussy gushing, dripping all over your sage colored cushions.
Katsuki sees your eyes trailing over to Katsumi, the swing is still going, you wonder how long he set the timer for.
"Eyes on me baby, he's good. I promise."
He is. Mouth slightly open and he’s snoring a little, still sleeping like the little cherub he is while his daddy bullies your cunt, fucking you like he hates your guts.
"Just focus on me." He's peppering kisses all over you in between his speaking. "I know you miss me fucking you. Tell me how much you miss this dick."
It's been almost five months since you've been fucked like this, or fucked at all for that matter.
"So so much! Miss you so much papa." You’re pulling his face down towards yours, pressing your lips together, legs wrapped around his waist. This scene probably resembles the one that got you pregnant in the first place.
"Yeah? Talk to me, mama.” He hopes you mean it. Prays it isn't just cock-drunk babbling cus he misses you too. So fucking much.
"Yeahh.” Your brows are scrunched together as you nod furiously. “I haven't fucked nobody else. This pussy's still yours baby."
God he misses you like this, so cock-drunk and cute.
He leans in to kiss you again, tongues fighting for dominance against each other’s. “Haven’t fucked anybody either. This dick is always gonna be yours baby.”
He feels you clenching around him and that’s all the confirmation he needs as he shoots his seed deep in your pussy.
The both of you lie there together, there’s no telling how many minutes have gone by—just skin to skin basking in the afterglow of eachother until Katsumi let’s out a yelp that startles the both of you, whining a little as his swing comes to a stop. He’s stretching his tiny arms and smacking his lips, both signs of a great nap, making those weird baby noises.
Katsuki smirks to himself. He knows his kid like the back of his hand and wants to hit you with a big, fat ‘I told you so’ for doubting him. Instead, plants a kiss on the side of your face before he gets up.
Babydaddy!Bakugo who has you blinking back tears as you stare at his retreating form exiting the threshold of your home.
“Be safe.” You call out just before the door closes. It’s always bittersweet every single time, watching the two of them leave, praying they both returned to you safely. It makes you yearn to have your family back. Back under the same roof, and back to the way things used to be.
Hi, my name is Mosab , I’m from Gaza, and like many here, I’ve lost more than I ever thought I could bear — my family, my home, my sense of safety, and the simple moments that once gave life meaning. 💔
I’m not writing this to ask too much of anyone. I’m sharing a piece of my story — not because I want sympathy, but because I still believe someone, somewhere, might care enough to listen.
If this message finds you at the wrong time, I understand.
I’m truly sorry if it feels like an interruption.
➡️ Please feel free to DM me if you'd rather not receive asks from me — I'll make sure not to contact you again. 🤍
✨ If you do feel moved to help — even by sharing — it means more than words can say.
Every repost, every bit of care, helps keep hope alive in a place that has seen too much darkness.
🙏 Thank you for taking the time to read.
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Wishing you peace, healing, and comfort — wherever you are.
this…like, edtwt & edtok even being a thing in this day and age is bonkers. And skinnytok literally pushes the same values just under a more acceptable name, it’s all sick af
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