This Is Basically A Shitpost And Its Gotten More Attention Than A Few Of My Better Posts And I Just Want

This is basically a shitpost and it’s gotten more attention than a few of my better posts and I just want to say I respect that

I just want you to know that if class 1-A had to pair up for sit-ups, I would be with Bakugo so I could sit on his feet and rest my arms on his knees. Then I'd rest my cheek on my arms with a smirk and watch the flustered blush on his pretty face deepen each time he rose up—inches from my face. He'd finally be all ‟The hell are you doing?‟ And I'd smile, rising up a little to meet him as he came up from another sit up. He'd act tough but we all know his heart would be skipping like the classic school girl with a fat crush and he'd pout, lips inches from mine. I'd tilt my head to make that space a mere centimeter then, I'd flick my eyes up to his and smile. ‟Your feet smell like ass.‟ And I'd run away as he tried to kill me.

Playing House

With Bakugo Katsuki

Warnings : Unedited, Gender Neutral, Swearing, Housework (eww)

Bakugo Katsuki is very particular with certain things.

He won’t let you fold his laundry or make the bed cause you always ‟do it wrong,‟ whatever that means. And he insists—demands—on making certain dishes. Usually the ones that require a certain amount of spice (in his opinion), otherwise you're free to make what you want.

Bakugo also prefers to do dishes, he's a freak like that. There's something therapeutic about it for him, I guess. You really don't mind and give very little argument against it. However, if he's (1) tired, (2) injured, or (3) if he made dinner, you won't let him.

Yeah, you both full on argue for way too long about who does dishes and we won't get into that. Usually, you can annoy the exhausted blond enough to get him to fold. Usually. Because there are times where Katsuki—bastard that he is—will fill the sink with boiling water. I shit thee not, boiling flucking water cause his hands can handle it.

Yours can't, his can. That's the point. The little fuck is just that petty.

Obviously, that means he has to wash dishes since you can't even unplug the sink. He smirks at you while you glare from the table (he doesn't let you dry dishes either.)

One time you got these heavy duty rubber gloves and unplugged the sink while the cocky ash-blond was shitting. Seeing his smirk fade into a confused kicked puppy look was priceless.

Wattpad

Cascade (@Cascade05)

I write stuffs... Do... Do you read stuffs? Cause like, what if you read my stuffs??? (^///^) ____________________ Fol...

So… when people go to Starbucks, they sometimes use celebrity names, right? I saw this post on Pinterest (one of those older Tumblr screenshots) and this person said their name was Tony Stark and they ran into someone who called themselves Bruce Wayne. So that happens, right?

Okay, so, imagine you're working as a barista at some place and you get so many people telling you their name is a pro hero name. The amount of Dekus you have served this week is off the charts and you had no idea Shoto could shape shift into forty different people. In all honesty, though, it's funny and kinda the highlight of your week.

This one day, someone comes in and they tell you there name is Dynamight. Not only does the shy smile on his face tell you, no, it's not Dynamight, but like literally everything else does too. Okay, normal. You place the order and then take the next person in line. This person is also Dynamight. This has happened before and, to prevent confusion, you dub this person Dynamight 1.

The next customer is a stoic man by the name David. The two of you connect eyes, both inwardly laughing at the funny little encounter that just transpired. David is dubbed nice David, a name you mumble and the stoic man hums with joy, you think.

Anyway, after David is—well, a large, intimating man which wild ash-blond hair and sharp crimson eyes which are enhanced by his dark mask. You blink up at him, shocked for a moment before your eyes flicker to Nice David. You both share a look of shock before evil grins appear in your eyes.

Then Dynamight orders and you take his order professionally, not gushing or fan-girling—and not breaking down into a fit of laughter despite so badly wanting to. He gives you his name, a gruff “Dynamight,“ and you bite your cheek.

You take your sharpie—you've chosen orange for obvious reasons—and your write what some may consider your final words. You're optimistic and consider it funny. “Dynamight 2,“ you mumble and the man snaps his head around with such a bizzare, pissed off look you can't stop the laugh. You tried, which turned it into a snort and the rage in his eyes exploded (heh) at the sound. You hid behind the empty coffee cup, pinching your lips together as laughter prodded at your chest.

“The hell did you just say? You think that shit is funny?!“

You did. Then you realized he probably thought you were making fun of his recent drop from number one hero to number two. He was bitter about that, it was no secret. You cleared your throat, back to looking at Dynamight with your professional facade. “Sorry sir, it's just that,“ you paused, sharing a look with Nice David.

“Spit it out,“ the inpatient hero demanded.

You looked back it him, clearing your throat again as a laugh threatened to ruin everything. You laughed when you here nervous and it didn't help that you always found Dynamight's reactions amusing. But you had to keep it together, for the other, no doubt, embarrassed Dynamights in the room. “Well, I'm sorry to say, but Dynamight and Dynamight 1 have already been taken.“

“What?“

It was so short, so curt, and so blunt you almost laughed again. You saw the other two Dynamights flinch and you wanted to scream. What were the odds the real deal would come into the little cafe the same time as two of his fans? Ah, if you were them you'd be too embarrassed to get your coffee. But, since you weren't them, well, you were there to enjoy the comedy gold.

Back to Dynamight 2. The man still awaited an explanation, far too confused to be annoyed at your lack of action. You looked at the two other Dynamights who's eyes were glued to the floor. You looked at your coworkers, all of which were hiding smiles by showing their backs to the giant pro—busying themselves with work. You looked at Kind Dave, both agreeing this was one of—nay, the BEST thing to ever happen in your lives. You looked at Dynamight 2, a man so lost and so confused, so unsure of his identity.

“If you would like, I can use a different name.“

“Huh?“ That snapped him back to the present. “Hell no, I'm Dynamight!“

“Yes.“

“So use Dynamight!“

“It's already been used—“ “Then swap them!“

“I can't. That would just confuse the team—“ “Then I should be Dynamight 1!“

“That's already been taken.“

“Just change it from Dynamight 2, dammit!“

“How about Dynamight 3?“

Oh if looks could kill. “Change. It,“ he order slowly, lowly, and most definitely sternly.

You coughed into your hand to hide the laugh. “Alright sir, I'll change it.“

You assumed he was too angry to listen to your new name for him which was his fault actually. He could most certainly not blame you for what was to come because it was he who left you unsupervised and you lived off of the pain of others.

There were no other customers so, you had the honor of handing out drinks. It was with great joy you took that job and you, again with great joy, read the name on the cup out loud. “Dynamight.“

You saw the hero twitch. His scowl deepened and you would've laughed to yourself if you weren't waiting for Dynamight to show up. You looked at the small group, raising a brow when no one came. “Guess he left,“ you mumbled.

One of your coworkers mumbled a response. “I'd leave too.“

You both shared a small snicker.

Then the next order came up. “Dynamight one?“ you asked, fully aware that person has also slipped out.

That meant two free coffees for the team.

Next was “Kind David,“ you announced proudly.

The man, the myth, the legend walked up to your counter and, as the name implied, kindly took the drink from you, giving you a kind nod of thanks. You both shared a look of amusement before he left, giving Dynamight 2 a small nod as he passed.

It was time. You held the large black coffee with a hint of cinnamon and a helping of whipped cream in your hand. Dynamight liked whipped cream, who knew? You didn't look at the cup to read the name. No. You looked straight into Dynamight's narrowed eyes. He began approaching the counter, glare hardening in suspicion. You announced him and he bristled with anger, lip lifting up to reveal his pink gums as he sneered down at you. Such a large man.

“Number two!“ you announced loudly, cheerfully, and joyously.

Boy. You had never seen a face curl up like that. He towered over you and he opened his mouth to give you a pice of his mind. But you beat him to it. You leaned forward, mischievous glint in your eye. “Don't worry,“ you whispered, “you'll always be number one here, hero.“

And it was supposed to be a funny jab, you said it with a teasing look. It was supposed to make him snatch the coffee outta your hands with a glare. But, well, you couldn't control his emotions.

He grabbed the coffee, taking it out of your hand normally. He glared, a comparatively calm glare. “Watch yourself, shorty.“

And you let your mouth drop in a dramatic scoff, about to give his back a piece of your mind, then you see it. You freeze, mouth gaping in actual shock. The back of his neck and the tips of his ears were the slightest bit red. You thought you were seeing things. You rubbed your eye. Oh boy, you were not seeing things.

It was supposed to be a funny jab. You said it with a teasing look. But hey, if Dynamight got all embarrassed, that was fine too. “We'll be rooting for you hero!“ you cheered, again, mildly teasing.

He scoffed but you saw the blush grow on the back of his neck. He sent you one glare over his shoulder and your cat-like grin grew at the pink dusting his upper cheek. Then he left and the cafe was silent before you and your coworkers burst into a series of obnoxious laughs and giggles. You were not giggling, by the way, you were on the floor DYING and wheezing in an ugly, hilarious sort way.

Dynamight was an interesting guy.

Being a writer is so funny cause I'll just be sitting, stuck in a daydream—as per usual—and I'll think ‟that would be such a cool story‟ or ‟that would be such a cute drabble.‟ Then I sit for a little longer until I realize—oh. I'm a writer. I can write this. Then I don't.

I just want you to know that if class 1-A had to pair up for sit-ups, I would be with Bakugo so I could sit on his feet and rest my arms on his knees. Then I'd rest my cheek on my arms with a smirk and watch the flustered blush on his pretty face deepen each time he rose up—inches from my face. He'd finally be all ‟The hell are you doing?‟ And I'd smile, rising up a little to meet him as he came up from another sit up. He'd act tough but we all know his heart would be skipping like the classic school girl with a fat crush and he'd pout, lips inches from mine. I'd tilt my head to make that space a mere centimeter then, I'd flick my eyes up to his and smile. ‟Your feet smell like ass.‟ And I'd run away as he tried to kill me.

Bakugo doesn’t do up his top button because the uniform shirt doesn’t stretch over his massive badonkers, and I will not be accepting criticism.