“Annoying,” he complains.

A loud huff expels his lips as he folds his lower set of arms against his chest. Sunday has to be the worst day of the week, he decides. He longs for the sounds of agony rippling amongst the wind, coupled with the sweet tang of iron. Limbs flayed from totem posts planted high above scattered remains; fingers frozen in time as they reach for salvation. Eyes turned to white; mouths left agape in horror and reverence. Oh, how he pined for mutilation at his hand. For others to bear witness of his triumph and with trembling knees bow at the sight of his opulence. Yet, he cannot. It was as if his hands and feet were shackled to the floor, body restrained and unmoving. 

Sukuna scowls, “impudent women,” he mumbles, ruffling his pink hair with the palms of his hands.  

“Sukuna?” A wispy voice creeps from behind his bedroom door. Without asking permission, a woman enters the room, calm and composed. Her eyes inspect the sight around her, bouncing around all corners of the room before landing on Sukuna himself. Sukuna keeps his body facing the courtyard; mind set on ignoring the presence behind him. His ears twitch at the sound of feet shuffling, inching closer to his massive frame.  

“You're ignoring me?” You question.  

Sukuna can hear the smile in your tone; he frowns displeased with the fact that you are not and shifts, obscuring the brunt of his face. You giggle, amused at his attempts to block you out.  

“Oh, don’t be such a child.” You playfully miff, rolling your eyes in exasperation.  

“Woman, stop speaking at once.” Sukuna bars his teeth.

You trace the hard lines of his figure, resting your eyes on the slobbering mouth on his stomach. It grins and swipes its tongue against Sukuna’s stout abdomen. His extra appendages seem keen on revealing Sukuna’s true nature, that he aches for you even in indignation. You watch as he continues to survey the courtyard, taking note at how his eyes pause at the white lotus lined along edges of engraved stone. 

You had begged for a week to add bushes of pearl, as white lotus flowers were your favorite. Sukuna disagreed at first, as he loved to add difficulty when offered suggestions. But the next week when taking your daily stroll through the gardens, you’d spotted a carefully placed bush filled with alabaster white. You floated through the halls that day; cheeks stretched so far that by dusk they ached.  

“Your mind is wandering,” You note, plopping on the tatami mat below. 

Sukuna bristles, flapping his left palm in refusal, “my mind is not wandering, stop with this foolishness.” His bottom eyes flicker, rolling until they make contact with your perched lips and crinkled nose.

"Do you wish to kill?" You reach over to unravel Sukuna's lower biceps, wrapping a delicate hand around his own, "you are king, you may do as you please," you state, tracing dark ink interwoven with tanned skin.

"You taunt me." His fingers twitch but his body stills, shoulders slouching.

"How so?" You ask.

Sukuna has yet to escape from the abyss of his thoughts. Violent musings of calamity ring in his ears and he attempts to focus on the softness of your paw in comparison to his own. The lack of callous or blemishes, the contrast of your skin - a soft mahogany - to his bronzed beige.

"I am shackled by your idiotic wishes." He miffs, flexing his bicep. His pride swells as the tip of your finger travels to brush over the taut flesh.

You tug his arm towards you, gently skimming your lips over his skin, leaving gentle kisses when you see fit, obsessed by the faint quiver that follows as you guide them to the crease of his elbow, "they are idiotic, yet you grant them as if you'll be punished by the gods if not."

Silence follows your claim, deep and contemplative. Sukuna considers himself a god amongst men, so why does he choose to follow the asinine musings of an ordinary woman? One with no immediate power, no cursed energy to support her moronic demands. For a bit he chooses not to answer. Simply allowing you to continue your pampering.

"I assumed a man like you would not be bound by such mortal constraints." You jest, a chortle threatens to claw its way from your throat. You clasp your hands and push it down, settling for a cushioned grin instead.

Sukuna shifts, his top set of arms fall to rest on his thighs, while the bottom reach towards your seated frame, positioning your body to sit between his folded legs. He nestles himself against you, chin plunging to lay along the crown of your head, "you are no mere mortal," he muses, cupping the back of your palms with his own, "you've bewitched my soul, wretched women. Now I must test the limits of whatever sorcery you've invoked."

You smile, satisfied, and tilt your head back to rest upon his chest, "you're quite the poet today."

“Annoying,” he complains.

A loud huff expels his lips as he folds his lower set of arms against his chest. Sunday has to be the worst day of the week, he decides. He longs for the sounds of agony rippling amongst the wind, coupled with the sweet tang of iron. Limbs flayed from totem posts planted high above scattered remains; fingers frozen in time as they reach for salvation. Eyes turned to white; mouths left agape in horror and reverence. Oh, how he pined for mutilation at his hand. For others to bear witness of his triumph and with trembling knees bow at the sight of his opulence. Yet, he cannot. It was as if his hands and feet were shackled to the floor, body restrained and unmoving. Sukuna scowls, “impudent women,” he mumbles, ruffling his pink hair with the palms of his hands.  

“Sukuna?” A wispy voice creeps from behind his bedroom door. Without asking permission, a woman enters the room, calm and composed. Her eyes inspect the sight around her, bouncing around all corners of the room before landing on Sukuna himself. Sukuna keeps his body facing the courtyard; mind set on ignoring the presence behind him. His ears twitch at the sound of feet shuffling, inching closer to his massive frame.  

“You're ignoring me?” You question.  

Sukuna can hear the smile in your tone; he frowns displeased with the fact that you are not and shifts, obscuring the brunt of his face. You giggle, amused at his attempts to block you out.  

“Oh, don’t be such a child.” You playfully miff, rolling your eyes in exasperation.  

“Woman, stop speaking at once.” Sukuna bars his teeth.

You trace the hard lines of his figure, resting your eyes on the slobbering mouth on his stomach. It grins and swipes its tongue against Sukuna’s stout abdomen. His extra appendages seem keen on revealing Sukuna’s true nature, that he aches for you even in indignation. You watch as he continues to survey the courtyard, taking note at how his eyes pause at the white lotus lined along edges of engraved stone. 

You had begged for a week to add bushes of pearl, as white lotus flowers were your favorite. Sukuna disagreed at first, as he loved to add difficulty when offered suggestions. But the next week when taking your daily stroll through the gardens, you’d spotted a carefully placed bush filled with alabaster white. You floated through the halls that day; cheeks stretched so far that by dusk they ached.  

“Your mind is wandering,” You note, plopping on the tatami mat below. 

Sukuna bristles, flapping his left palm in refusal, “my mind is not wandering, stop with this foolishness.” His bottom eyes flicker, rolling until they make contact with your perched lips and crinkled nose.

"Do you wish to kill?" You reach over to unravel Sukuna's lower biceps, wrapping a delicate hand around his own, "you are king, you may do as you please," you state, tracing dark ink interwoven with tanned skin.

"You taunt me." His fingers twitch but his body stills, shoulders slouching.

"How so?" You ask.

Sukuna has yet to escape from the abyss of his thoughts. Violent musings of calamity ring in his ears and he attempts to focus on the softness of your paw in comparison to his own. The lack of callous or blemishes, the contrast of your skin - a soft mahogany - to his bronzed beige.

"I am shackled by your idiotic wishes." He miffs, flexing his bicep. His pride swells as the tip of your finger travels to brush over the taut flesh.

You tug his arm towards you, gently skimming your lips over his skin, leaving gentle kisses when you see fit, obsessed by the faint quiver that follows as you guide them to the crease of his elbow, "they are idiotic, yet you grant them as if you'll be punished by the gods if not."

Silence follows your claim, deep and contemplative. Sukuna considers himself a god amongst men, so why does he choose to follow the asinine musings of an ordinary woman? One with no immediate power, no cursed energy to support her moronic demands. For a bit he chooses not to answer. Simply allowing you to continue your pampering.

"I assumed a man like you would not be bound by such mortal constraints." You jest, a chortle threatens to claw its way from your throat. You clasp your hands and push it down, settling for a cushioned grin instead.

Sukuna shifts, his top set of arms fall to rest on his thighs, while the bottom reach towards your seated frame, positioning your body to sit between his folded legs. He nestles himself against you, chin plunging to lay along the crown of your head, "you are no mere mortal," he muses, cupping the back of your palms with his own, "you've bewitched my soul, wretched women. Now I must test the limits of whatever sorcery you've invoked."

You smile, satisfied, and tilt your head back to rest upon his chest, "you're quite the poet today."

you hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on in the living room after putting kenji to bed. you’ve got some time to yourself after your shift and you can only spend this time ruminating on the multiple possibilities. you’ve got the television on at low volume just for something in the background and you use the light to locate your wine glass. 

you know it’s the alcohol, the second glass of wine that’s making you think of all your regrets with the man. but still as you sit here, you don’t know the answers. what if you date and you find out you’re not compatible? what if bakugou doesnt even want to date? you aren’t in the position to have flings with kenji around. what if you get kenji used to the feeling of daddy around, in the house, waking up beside mummy and then he’s gone. you’re not ready for a boyfriend, a partner, a…. you just know that kenji needs his father.

a week without anything from katsuki and kenji is starting to ask questions. he’s missed swimming class because you work on the day bakugou usually takes him. the weekend sleepover that was planned never happened and every morning kenji wakes up with a pout as he drags his deku green bag across your kitchen like a pet snail.

“papa today? i want to see papa,” he mumbles, cheeks puffy, clutching a tuft of his own hair.

to prepare kenji for katsuki’s long trips, the older would spend days in advance showing him photos of where he’s going with a child friendly version as to why. kenji would sit on his lap and click through photos online, photos of his daddy in the country if he’s been there before. would promise him a gift, answer all the questions his son has. he’d give him the time period, note it on the calendar and you would too on the one you’ve got at your house.

but the time you originally wrote was seven days ago and you’re still working out the right words to say to your son.

“papa’s still working on his trip, honey,” you bend down to kenji’s height, because don’t you wanna see papa too, “he’s working hard being big and brave for us! you’ve got to be brave too waiting for him.”

your sweet boy gives a small nod, “okay… miss him…. hope papa brings me a bear.”

you laugh, kissing his forehead and standing up, “a bear?”

kenji hums, “we watch bear show! he says he will get one. for me.”

you’ve got no clue what he means here but it humours you all the same. you quickly pack his lunch in his bento, a gift from bakugou’s family and slide it into his bag, “okay! maybe something smaller than that. remember granny is picking you up today.”

nothing helps. not taking on extra shifts, making sure kenji spends his time with family, not the wine in the evenings and definitely not leaving the news on twenty four seven.

this is when your worst thought materialised before you, pictured on your television like you manifested it.

“DYNAMIGHT MISSING IN ACTION”, the bottom of the screen reads, letters practically dancing. you turn up the volume for the news reader who sits safely in the studios, a desert pictured behind him, along with a frowning professional photo of your son’s father.

“pro hero dynamight is currently missing in action after being dispatched in west bravia last week. he was planned to face the water villain who is yet to go by any name. may we keep him in our thoughts and wish he gets back safely.”

then the news continues as normal, news about heroes starting new programmes for children and the decrease in robberies. does nobody care? is nobody else worried? you throw back your red wine, thankful kenji is spending the night with his grandparents. he should never see you like this.

your doorbell rings, along with a knock. bakugou’s mother would have texted you if she was bringing kenji back early. your friends are probably asleep and your family would have called. you have half the mind to ignore it, roll back into your blanket cocoon of grief but you have to get the next bottle of wine and the cookies in your kitchen.

the doorbell goes off again, three knocks in rapid succession against your door.

“what the fuck?” you whisper, whipping off your blanket and stalking over. “sounding like the police with these knocks—“

the man from the tv, wheat blonde hair with ruby gemstone eyes who is supposed to be missing in action is currently found right outside your door. the smirk irritates you. the way  he rakes his hand through his locks makes your eyeball twitch and the fact he smells freshly washed, like fucking sandalwood makes a growl brew down your throat.

“hey sweetheart, sorry for not textin’ i—,”

you know that strength they say mothers get for when their child is in danger or they have to carry multiple things at once including their child on the hip? apparently, it’s also reserved for stupid, reckless baby fathers.

you grip the front of bakugou’s khaki henley long sleeve and drag him into your apartment. he lets you do it, laughter bubbling out of him.

“woah, woah, you missed me that much?” 

it’s not until you push him back on your closed door that his smile slowly drops from the look on your face. anger doesn’t cover it, perhaps something akin to a raging fury blooms inside you at the sight of bakugou katsuki. your eyebrows are sharp, chest heaving— partly just from shock. your knuckles are clenched so hard that your palms might be bleeding.

“how fucking dare you do this to us! what the fuck, katsuki! i thought you were…,” you exhale shakily, blinking more than needed, “i thought you were…”

“thought i was what?” he asks and his voice is smooth, like fresh lake water down your throat. bakugou knows, he always fucking knows, his hand resting on your waist.

“dead,” you’re proud of yourself for not crying because you already have today and the day before that. you think you’ve run out of tears. “i thought you were dead katsuki.”

he shakes his head softly and you notice the lack of product in his hair as a tendril falls between his eyes. his cooler hand from being outside burns your hot cheek. 

“it’s gonna take a whole more than what i handled out there to kill me. you know i’m the number one hero?”

you shake his hand off your face but you step forward, your fist that holds his shirt now in between your breasts. 

“i’m not playing with you right now. where were you then? why was the news saying you were m.i.a?”

“the fuck? our plane just broke down and we had no service out there to alert anyone. we had to figure it out ourselves. we fought the villain days ago,” he squeezes your waist for reassurance and it only loosens your grip on his shirt, “i’m fine now—,”

“why didn’t you text? call?”

his arm wraps around your waist in a hug, holding you to him as he leans against your front door.

“phone broke. i smashed it on concrete. as soon as i got back i showered and came to see you and kenj. is he here?”

bakugou already knows he isn’t. you wouldn’t let him touch you like this if he was, nor would you be drinking so blatantly. 

you shake your head softly, both your palms resting on his chest. the rage simmers through your bloodstream, only leaving the alcohol you drank earlier.

“at your mum’s. he’s missed you, you’ve missed a lot.”

“i’ll make it up to him,” bakugou says, biting down on his lip. you watch the action, white teeth deep in his pink skin until he lets go, “how much have you drank?”

“what? nothing!” you squeak like he’s going to get you in trouble. your hands slide up his chest and around his neck, fingers interlocking.

“sweetheart…,” he dips down so his face is right beside yours. his sweet musky scent is strongest behind his ears. “i can smell the wine on your breath.”

your eyes narrow though you don’t let go of him, neither does his arm around your waist. 

“i’m allowed to drink after work. i also thought you were dead bare in mind.”

“so you missed me then? tell me you did.”

you huff, resting your forehead on his hard chest and closing your eyes. he’s got you in the best spot, tender and drunk, able to say anything. 

“i think i did. i’ve been thinking about you a lot recently.”

“hmm, yeah?” bakugou responds and he looks as if you’ve offered him the hero of the year award. actually, he's won those multiple times now and you admitting that feels nothing like that. “jump for me.”

“what?” you mumble but bakugou scoops you up, his hands on your ass. naturally, your legs circle around his waist, your breasts right in his face. “i’m not kenji, you don’t have to carry me.”

“shut up and let me,” bakugou grunts, easily yanking off his shoes and walking you to your living room where your blanket lays in a pile across your sofa. the television rumbles a hair removal advert. you cling onto him as he moves, loving the feeling of… him. alive and holding you. 

once bakugou deems the area tidy, moving your blanket, your phone and wine glass to the other side of the table, he sits on your sofa. your eyes widen at the position you’re in, straddling his lap, knees on either side of his hips. he slouches in the cushion, a hand on each of your thighs. 

this is exactly how you got pregnant by this man, why you kissed him and dragged him into a random room two years ago. bakugou katsuki’s wide chest that could supplement a mattress, his long ass eyelashes that have no business being on his face and his paw-like hands that feel like they’re everywhere even when they’re not moving. his eyes are half lidded as he gets comfortable, his focus staying on your face. 

“tell me what you’ve been thinkin’ about.”

you sniff, hands back on his chest. you can feel every dip and curve of him. where else should your hands go?

“you.”

he chuckles, head leaning back on the sofa, “yeah, baby you said that. what about me?”

you inhale a deep breath, fingers coming up to play with the buttons of his henley. khaki green is an insane combination with his blonde hair, his scarlet eyes. “what are you doing, katsuki?”

“askin’ you a question. i missed you too. thought about you a fuck load.”

that has you glancing up at him, “really?”

“don’t play dumb. you know how i feel about you.”

you chew your lip. sure… you know there’s sexual tension between you both. how you’re constantly touching, how he’s always smiling with you. pet names are always thrown in conversation and he talks to you with the same softness he does with kenji. you haven’t seen him talk like this with his friends or colleagues.

bakugou holds your stare, refusing to take anything back. it’s too intense, raw. so you’re back to looking at his buttons.

“well i was thinking you were dead for a while. hated you for a bit because i had to have a kid with a pro hero who risks his body for the world. then i was pissed i didn’t know much about your friends or who i should contact about you,” bakugou squeezes your thighs, pondering on what you say.

“i’ll introduce you to my friends. send you their numbers if you want,” his hands move to the fat of your hips as he drags you closer to him. any closer and you’re sitting on his crotch, “sorry about the job, baby. now i’ve started i can’t quit.”

you match his smile though it drops slightly. your index finger jabs the centre of his chest, “you can’t die. for kenji’s sake.”

“i’m not gonna. no chance.”

the pure confidence makes your whole body hum, has your hand sneaking up to curl around his neck. he lets you, leaning into your palm. 

“i thought about kissing you. more than i should.” bakugou’s eyes widen. fucking finally, something from you. admittance of something. “thought how i would’ve regretted not having kissed you again since… since two years ago.”

“that is a long fuckin’ time.” he grunts, voice gravelly. he stares at your lips, your tongue swiping along the bottom. 

bakugou’s all fidgety now, squeezing your hips, lifting his so you sit closer and closer to his crotch. both your hands slide up his neck to the side of his face holding him in position. 

kenji’s not here. the wine has your lower half abuzz, his hands cradle you and he’s alive and gorgeous. you know he wants it, perhaps even more than you. bakugou’s just waiting for the green flag, a go ahead. you might regret this but you were going to regret this is you didn’t and fuck, you just want to give in.

“do i have to make the first move again?”

that’s all it takes for bakugou to shove you onto his hardening cock and cup the back of your head to meet your lips with his. it starts as only a peck. his moisturised lips, something coconut flavoured with the remnants of wine on yours. 

as sweet as it is, pecking isn’t enough. one peck from him, turns to three before he groans, hand slipping to your jaw to carefully inch it open. 

“fuck baby,” his lips brush against yours at every word and heat spreads between your legs, “been dreamin’ about this shit.”

you want to laugh, “it’s just a kiss—,”

bakugou tilts his head and slides his tongue into your mouth. so… this is exactly what you’ve been dreaming about. it feels delicious, neurons and electrons lighting up inside your brain in delight. he licks inside your mouth and the groan he makes along with his hand sneaking under your top makes you only open up wider. your mouth, your legs. 

there’s one gush of breath that’s being transferred between the both of you. he gently bites down on your bottom lip, sucking the flesh before tugging it with his teeth. it’s not just a kiss with bakugou, its akin to animalistic, how he handles you like he needs you and he’s been waiting. your breath is hot and you can taste the spearmint gum he probably chewed on the way here. you feel crazy, tilting your head the opposite way to him to suck on his tongue, it feels like you’re an inch away from eating him alive. every grunt he makes is paired with a squeeze of your waist, hip, thigh. every time you part for just a second of air, bakugou watches impatiently, already kissing you back to him.

your bodies shuffle against each other, in a rhythm that only sings between you both. your arms clutch around his neck in desperation, like he will up and go any second. you swear you don’t mean to but your hips begin to grind down on his crotch.

“fuck,” bakugou moans, you’ve got no bra on under your sweatshirt and the underside of your breast is so smooth under his fingertips. “can’t believe we waited two fuckin years for this.”

bakugou’s talented, guiding your hips to press down on his cock. it’s too much for you, him sucking on your tongue, fondling your breast and pinching your nipple. you duck out of the kiss, resting your head on his shoulder beginning to really press down on him.

“oh fuck katsuki,” you moan, focused on chasing your high and that’s it, “touch me, touch me more.”

“you’re fuckin’ angelic, baby,” 

bakugou feels as if he’s been dropped off at heaven for the evening. your strength when you pushed up against the door to you falling apart on his lap. you, the woman who he hasn’t stopped thinking about for two years. there’s still so much of you he needs to work out but he’ll take anything he can get.

“where, baby?” 

you feel like a teenager dry humping bakugou like this but fuck, it’s doing the job for now. your clit bumps against his slacks in your thin pyjama bottoms, the friction so sweet. pleasure hits you in soft waves, rolling through your veins.

“my tits. shit, i’m so hot right now,” you whine, and bakugou will come in his underwear if you talk any more.

he tugs your sweatshirt over your head, throwing it on the seat beside him and he doesn’t spare a second before suctioning his lips over your left breast.

you sound close to tears, a bundle of nerves as you cry, whine and moan. you hold him at the nape of his neck to your chest. sweetness prickles through you as you arch into his wet mouth. your eyes roll to the back of your head when he sucks harder.

“why are you so good at this? you feel so… i’m gonna come,” 

he moves to your next breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple and sucking. he rolls his thumb against the perked point of your left breast, “you’re everything baby. take what you need from me. unbelievable i’ve got you like this.”

you might have to keep bakugou katsuki locked in your cupboard. you can’t let him do this to anyone else. it’s as if he’s just spewing his train of thoughts, letting you take a ride in his head. you hold onto his bicep which only tenses under your grip.

“let me eat you after this. wanna taste your pussy,” 

you know bakugou’s got a nasty mouth, he had one the first time you had sex but hearing it again, has your orgasm rippling through you. your hips move with one goal in mind and bakugou lets you use him however you want. fuck, you’re going to drive him insane.

you throw your head back, tits in his face as you cry for him. electricity sparks under your skin, delight spreading over you like cake batter in a tin.

“you good, baby? gonna sit on my face?”

you rest your forehead on his shoulder, trying to catch your breath, “shut up katsuki.”

you’ve just dry humped your baby daddy to completion and his cock is rock hard beneath you. 

“don’t make me beg, sweetheart. i know you’re fuckin’ soaked,” he grunts like every word is painful, coated in need.

you lift up to look at him, his fingers hooking mindlessly in the waistband of your pyjama bottoms. he looks aroused out of his mind, cheeks flushed, chest heaving like he also came. his lips are bitten and raw all because of you and his ruby eyes look as if a shadow has been cast over them. he looks devilish, deific, he looks like he’d drag you to paradise to commit filthy acts to you.

“i can’t sit on your face, that’s way too much.”

“too much for who?” he slurs. you’ve got no underwear on either. it’s like you knew he was going to touch you today. one hand sneaks to rub at your ass, his other sliding up your body to your breast, still wet with his spit.

but now your body heats for a whole other reason. “that’s too… intimate, katsuki.”

“you birthed my baby, yn.” your heart leaps in your chest, “we can try. let me taste you and we can stop if you don’t want more.”

the fact he wants you this bad only turns you on. you don’t think you’ve ever been this horny in your life. the combination of all the touches, the flirty conversations, the alcohol, the fact you thought he was dead. 

you want to test him.

“say please.”

bakugou lifts his head up, raising his eyebrows at you. “really now?”

you hum, placing your thumb on his lip and pulling it down to reveal his straight bottom set of teeth. he looks as if he wants to eat you alive. “say please can you sit on my face?”

you let go of his lip, focused on how it pops back into place and curves into a smirk. “fuck my life.” but he continues, “yn, please can you put your sweet pussy on my face? let me eat you out till you cry my name?”

you give him a strong nod in reply, giggles spilling behind your hand, “take your top off.”

like a good dog, he listens. grabbing his top from the back of his neck and throwing it right by your sweatshirt. you moan at the sight of his bare chest, hands drawn to his chest like magnets. “you’re so sexy—,”

bakugou chuckles, he cannot handle you, “it’s not about me, baby.”

he manhandles you in position, shifting his body to lay back on your sofa and dragging a cushion to rest his head upon. you’re still on his lap.

“take those off and sit on me. c’mon now.”

if anyone asks, you do it because he let you cry on him the other day and he’s always so good at reading your emotions. that he always touches you so softly, he’s always patient and waits for a sign before he starts anything. if anyone asks, you do it because your baby father has been so painfully attractive since the day you met him and you really, really want to feel his tongue.

you lift off him, refusing to break eye contact with his molten pupils. you shimmy out of your bottoms, completely naked before him though he only makes you feel sexy, perfect, like the only woman in the world. the grin the media complains they never see, takes over his face and you feel lucky to be on the opposite side of it.

“okay, i’m going to just…”

bakugou holds your thighs, adjusting you right over his face. you literally see his eyes roll back as you hold onto the arm rest before you. every thing about this is lewd, inappropriate, how he parts your pussy with his thumbs.

“i can fuckin’ smell you. you’ve leaked all over yourself.”

there’s shine across your inner thighs and bakugou is unbearably rock hard.

“if you're gonna talk like that…”

you look down at him past your breasts, between your legs and everything you say is fruitless. he’s still in control, even beneath you. 

“you’re gonna do what, baby? you love this shit the same way i do,”

two hands on your ass push and seat you right over his mouth. instantly, you moan at how close he is, how good he looks under you. you squeeze your thighs around his head as he laps your orgasm from a minute ago, his hands on your waist, the two years worth of tension.  

it’s like angels have taken over your body, rolling your hips over his tongue and you feel the vibration from his moans. 

“oh my god, katsuki,” the words are stolen from you, breathless, “this is insane.”

it’s a good thing he can’t talk because you know he’d be saying some cocky shit to you.

“just like that, oh shit,” he sucks on your clit and like a puppet, every touch has you moving, fingers tugging at a tuft of his hair. “you’re so good at this, fuck.”

you don’t mean to glance down at him, but you can’t help it as his hands sneak up your body to squeeze your breasts. you’re going to have this sight scratched behind your eyelids for days. bakugou looks pussydrunk, worse than you with your glasses of wine. his eyes are barely open, as his throat bobs from swallowing and tongue jabs inside your centre to taste more of you. thank fuck, he can’t talk right now, you’d be coming all over his face.

he does quirk an eyebrow at you looking at him and you feel his cheeks smile under your thighs. a particularly harsh suck on your clit and you’re arching into his mouth, stretching back so your arms are on his lower stomach. it’s the best position for you to grind into his mouth. your body feels fluid like a dancer, chasing every spark of pleasure that comes your way. you’ve got half the mind to regret not filming how you both look right now, your body beautifully curved over him, hips grinding like they’ve got a mind of their own.

just imagining how picturesque you look, how offensively skilled bakugou is with his tongue, his hands gripping the fat of your ass, you orgasm all over his face.

“fuck katsuki! o-oh, shit!”

this one hits you harder than the last, your body jolting unpredictably, tensing with a bite of pain. but then it’s pure contentment, spilling down your body like honey and you’re having trouble sitting up straight. 

bakugou’s not missing a drop of anything that comes from you, lapping up everything with the same intensity as when he downs water after a mission. he slowly rocks your hips against him as your body exhausts and when your hand messily pushes against his forehead he knows to let go of you.

“you like that, sweetheart?”

you’re all jelly and no bones, limply nodding and crawling up to lay next to your baby father to hug him. bakugou notes this deep in the back of his mind, you’re touchy after an orgasm, your leg locking over his waist.

“i’m not trying to make your head bigger than it already is,” you mumble against his chest, enjoying how his arm wraps around your back.

bakugou wipes across his mouth with his forearm before pecking your forehead, sniffing your hair, “you already have. you were only saying my name when i had my tongue on your cunt.”

you slap your hand over his mouth, reaching up on your forearm to look down at him. you know you must look like a sweaty mess, hair definitely not how it first looked when you met him at the door. you’ve not got a scratch of makeup on and you’re closer to being asleep than awake. bakugou can’t imagine it not being you, him and kenji for the rest of his life.

“you only talk like that to see how i react,” you drag your hand off his face, sliding it down his chest to his waistband. his fat rounded cock is heavy in his slacks. you give him a light squeeze.

bakugou moves without meaning to, hips jolting, breath hitching. 

“that’s the point, baby. gets you touchin’ my cock,” still he manages to find a smirk. hand running down your body to squeeze your ass.

you roll your eyes because fuck if you don’t want him. in your mouth, inside you. you’ve been dreaming about fucking him and if it’s anything like last time, well… you hope you don’t get pregnant again. 

“what do you want, i wanna—,”

“lemme take you on a date.”

it’s like all the air has been vacuum sucked out of the room. your eyes widen, jaw slightly drops. you sit up properly, hand slipping away from his crotch.

bakugou sits up too on his forearms, eyes never leaving your face. he’s constantly trying to read your mind, study your body language. you’re drawing away from him, like you did when you left his office, your mind on overdrive right before him.

he holds your chin to face him and your pupils are darting away to look at anything but him.

“look at me. what’s wrong with that?”

you blink, eyebrows furrowing like the words are trying to form in your brain.

“i just… i haven’t… i can’t…”

“baby, you really need to work on your explanations here,” bakugou laughs but it’s lacking the same soul from before. it’s like you’ve spent so much time thinking about him, about what you want and now that an option is offered to you, you’re stuck.

“katsuki, i don't know,” you whisper, childishly closing your eyes so you don’t have to face him.

“it’s just a date… unless this isn’t serious to you. you just wanted to fuck?” 

the defeat in bakugou makes your eyes snap open, palms pressing down on his chest, “no, no, it’s just… i need to think about kenji.”

“do you think i’m not?” he’s quick to volley.

“i don’t know what you’re thinking, katsuki!” you exclaim and he lets you. waits for you to continue. in a quieter voice, “i just can’t have something go wrong between us and kenji sees that. i don’t want him being confused and growing up seeing mummy and daddy like each other and then not or seeing us being on and off. i want him stable.”

bakugou knows you and him both grew up differently. your past is woven in your thoughts and how you want kenji to be. 

“so you wouldn’t want to try? i’m not askin’ to move in with you. just a date, testin’ us out.”

you would be lying if you haven’t been on dates since kenji was born. but they never lasted more than two and they definitely never met your son. having a date with bakugou, you know will become multiple and if it ends up going wrong, you won’t be able to escape your baby father. he can only be kenji’s father and you don’t want that getting confused.

so you slowly shake your head, “i’m sorry, i just… it’s all or nothing and i’m not sure i’m ready for all yet.”

bakugou hates that he understands. he loves how kenji is the centre of your world but as much as he hates the fact that kenji could have two married parents and still grow up fucked up. or kenji could have a co-parent situation and grow up fine. there’s no promising. fuck, he knows he grew up with two married parents and he’s all sorts of fucked. but you’re grasping for control here, as much as you can in how kenji is reared. he can’t blame you.

you grab your sweatshirt from across the sofa, plopping his long sleeve in his lap. you pull the clothing over your head and look for your pyjama bottoms you left on the floor.

bakugou still hasn’t put his shirt back on, “but what if we are good together? we made kenji and he’s a good kid. we can date and end on good terms even if we don’t—,”

but you’re already shaking your head, decision made. you stand up to shuffle your pyjama bottoms on, tiredness settling through your body. “i don’t want to string you along but i’ll think about it. i do like you katsuki, i’m just not sure—,” 

“it’s fine,” bakugou grunts, pride smashed and bleeding out his chest. he shoves his top on, springing up and making his way to your front door. you slowly follow behind him, grateful for how he stops. “i’ll pick up kenji from my mum’s, spend the weekend with him and take him swimming. i’ll text you details.”

you’re two metres apart. you step closer, arms hugging your body. he’s already pulled his shoes on.

he speaks to the door because you’ve dragged his heart across the room tonight, “and to set the record straight, i would be so careful with you knowing kenji could be hurt by our actions. wouldn’t let him have a clue until we’re ready. but i’m not gonna wait for you. i already have for two years now.”

two years? 

bakugou unlocks your front door and slips out, quietly closing it behind him. 

you stare at the wooden frame for a second longer than needed before slowly spinning around to drag yourself to bed. you already know you’re not getting much sleep tonight.

sure you’ve had a crush on him since you’ve met him but actively wanting to date, be partners? you never even knew he’s felt like that since you’ve met. this new infomation only makes you stuck in the same position as before, unsure whether you want commitment.

the more you ruminate the more you figure, it would be easier to at least try… to know for sure you don’t work? keep it a secret from kenji?

you roll over in your bed, desperate for some sleep.

---

PART 3 / BABY DADDY MASTERLIST / PART 5

likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for the next part. thanks xox