“Oh, my poor baby,” the words are cooed directly in your ear, making you whine as you try to shake his heavy body weight off of you. “This was all you needed, huh?”
Bakugou’s voice is so teasing, so soft compared to the usual growl he holds for you and you only. You couldn’t fucking stand him and his cocky attitude, how he always seemed to undermine you in the field just because you were still a sidekick. When you tried to show him that you were capable, it only backfired more. The thought makes you grit your teeth, your nails reaching back to claw at his nape.
“Fuck you.” You snap at him, hearing him hiss in pain—or pleasure? You could never tell with this freak of a man. Bakugou only grins against your smooshed cheek, letting the heavy weight of his hips push his cock even deeper inside of you. You cry out, eyes clenching shut, whimpering when his hand trapped between your bodies starts to rub your clit in quick circles.
“Such a filthy mouth on ya,” Bakugou huffs a little laugh, nipping at your cheek, pinching your lips together in a pout as he turns your head to face him. He takes you in—your watery eyes, your puffy cheeks, how you still try to frown at him, your downturned brows that quirk up when he slams his hips against you again.
“You’re one to talk,” you grit out, eyes rolling back when he pinches your clit softly between his thick fingers. Bakugou kisses you, finally, more of a smash of his lips against yours, licking at the crevices in your mouth, your teeth, your tongue. He swallows the cry you emit when he pushes you over the edge, doesn’t want anyone to hear how your pro hero boss fucks the brains out of you on his office couch.
“You fuckin’ love it.” Bakugou grins against you, cocky and proud at the way you tremor and shake around his cock. You can only sigh, body falling under the weight of his own as you pat at the hair on his nape.
“Yeah,” you mutter. Bakugou only laughs at you before rearranging you until you’re sitting up with your back against his chest, thighs spread over his, as your head rests on his shoulders.
“Last round ‘fore I have to send you out into the field, rookie. Let’s see how well you perform with my cum still plugging you up.” Bakugou grins, and you catch his reflection in the glass across the room from over your shoulder. He looks wicked, arrogant and full of himself. Secretly, you kinda love it.
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Dad always said I was like him
Meijack and Chilchuck Tims
Dungeon Meshi, Ryoko Kui
^ 1: Moony moonless sky, Fatima Aamer Bilal / 2: Bug like an angel, Mitski / 3: Woodtangle, Mary Ruefle / 4: The Third Hour of the Night, Frank Bidart / 5 & 6: FROM THE MAKERS OF "TWO-MOM ENERGY DRINK," IT'S "LET YOUR FATHER DIE ENERGY DRINK,", Daniel Lavery & Cecilia Corrigan / 7: Batman: Year Three (1989) / 8 & 9 : FROM THE MAKERS OF […], Daniel Lavery & Cecilia Corrigan / 10: Wilt, CJ the X / 11: How Do We Forgive Our Fathers, Dick Lourie / 12: Milk and honey, Rupi Kaur / 13: / 14: Moony moonless sky, Fatima Aamer Bilal / 15: Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong, Ocean Vuong / 16: untitled, joan tierney
v 17: Drunk, The Living Tombstone / 18: unknown
When your father tried his best to provide for you but he worked all the time and even when he was home he was either tired or stressed and he’s always liked to get drunk to relax and cheer up. When you know he values work ethics and respectability so you grew up to be capable and quiet. And when he says you’re like him you’re sort of puzzled, does he really know you so little, or does he know himself so little? But you like the feeling of your father ruffling your hair so you accept it, and still you stand next to your mother just as silent and just as stoic as her during family gatherings. He leaves again and again and when your mother leaves him nothing changes, really. You wonder if it’s more telling that you know him better than he seems to himself or that you don’t know him as much as you wish you did, or that you don’t think about him all that much these days. Out of sight, out of mind. And he’s never really been there, even when he was there, after all.
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you know what’s absolutely terrifying???? having to cut a baby’s nails………
Katsuki has to cut your baby’s fingernails when he discovers a tiny little scratch by her eye one morning. it’s barely there, a small thing, but it’s there, marring her little face nonetheless. he frowns at her when he holds her the next morning, her dreamy eyes alert and blinking up at him, she smiles.
“Now I gotta cut yer claws down,” he mutters to her, voice quiet as to not wake your sleeping form in the bedroom. he pads throughout the house with her chubby face resting on his shoulder, her gums gnawing at his bare skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind it.
he finds himself in a conundrum though, once he realizes just how fucking—how sharp the damn clippers are. they’re tiny, lavender in color, but they’re meant to cut though the nail with such precision. and yes, he’s a pro hero, has had to adopt the title of EMT, firefighter, emergency surgeon a few times in his life when need be.
but…those people weren’t his baby girl. they weren’t this tiny and precious, and they never looked up at him with a face so similar to his, it makes his heart squeeze tight in his chest. he frowns at her again, even deeper, and this makes her hiccup a little giggle, gummy smile spreading wide.
“You’re only gonna wear mittens from here on out,” he grumbles after a while, finally daring to pick up a tiny hand that she instantly curls around his thick finger. it’s the cutest image, he thinks to himself, but he catches sight of the jagged nail, the culprit. his heart squeezes even tighter though, when he realizes that he can’t protect her from every hurt in the world, even if the hurt comes from her own hands. and the realization is an aching one, but he tells himself that he, at least, can patch her up.
you walk in minutes later, find Bakugou curled over your daughter in the rocking chair he built for her room. his tongue pokes from the corner of his mouth in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed. your daughter babbles to him the whole time, her sweet voice cooing the softest little noises that he responds back to.
“I know, I know,” he mumbles to her. “Ya don’t like baths, and don’t like your nails cut, either. What other shit do you hate, huh?” he asks, and she seemingly responds with a long, sighed out coo. it makes him smile, despite the way his hands slightly shake when he cuts the next nail. he’s terrified, of somehow hurting her even more, of cutting too close, of scratching her. but he treks on, and kisses her fat little fingers every time he clips another nail.
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