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Ushijima got suckable tiddies

HE DOES!! HE REALLY DOES

cw ;; ab riding ushijima ... that is all. fem! reader. called baby one time. look away yall you dont see anything here

not proofread at all,, also HI HQ fandom im back - masterlist

nsfw minors dni.

“i wanna try something new tonight,”

ushijima pauses from where he sits under you, eyes peeking up with interest--silently telling you to go on while his large hands knead the flesh of your hips.

you look away sheepishly, embarrassed of what you're about to ask him. there's a persistent urge crawling up your spine, and your core aches with need, "i... i wanna ride you,"

his brows furrow in confusion. why would you ask him? you both already know where this night is going, and you've definitely made it clear to him when you crawled into his lap and placed your lips square against his.

"okay," he says flatly, face void of any expression--it wouldn't be the first time you'd ride him. "you can if you'd like."

the grip you have on his shoulders tightens, nails digging into the muscled flesh.

"yeah, but..." you shake your head slightly, unable to meet his eyes, and instead choose to fiddle with your bottom lip before you utter your next words.

"i... wanna ride your abs."

you think you've fucked up--because he completely stops moving, mouth agape, and his eyes are wide with shock. what makes it even worse is that he doesn't say anything back, completely silent as he processes your words.

"or-or not!" you blurt. "we don't need to do that! really, you can just ignor-"

"okay." he cuts you off.

you're stunned into silence, completely thrown off by his answer, because no - you didn't expect him to be so okay with your dirty desires. and you certainly didn't expect him to agree to try something new--right in the heat of the moment.

when you first started dating - he had some experience with random hookups and one night stands; he's told you that it wasn't much of a priority for him to sleep with someone every weekend. and while you weren't much stunned by the news -being the freak you are- you definitely felt like you had to hide yourself while being intimate with him - not wanting to make him uncomfortable with your sexual fantasies.

but now you're being stripped of your clothes, quick hands ridding you of your top and bottoms - there isn't much more said between you two when you shove him so he's laying down on the couch and the top of his hoodie over and up to his chin.

he angles your bare pussy over his abdomen, already glistening with slick and need. your hands find purchase on his well-built chest, using him to control your movements as you slowly sink down.

"oh, fuck," you hum at the immediate contact. he watches you with eager eyes, hands resting atop your thighs.

and it's so hot seeing him like this - sweat beading at his forehead and at the skin of his chest. his abs -just like every other part of his body- look like they've been sculpted by the gods to perfection. you'd mistake him for a greek statue if you didn't know any better.

"toshi-" his large hands grip the back of your ass, pushing you and grinding you even further into him. "a-ah, shit,"

your eyes roll to the back of your head as you lose yourself completely to the pleasure--your mind numb, body moving over the thick ridges and indents of his muscled skin.

'...you look so good using me like this," he breathes, snapping you out of your hazy state.

you laugh softly, "can't believe we've never done this before,"

your clit nudges back and forth between the valleys of his abs--stimulating you perfectly, the built up wetness makes it even easier for you to slide over his skin.

you note that its not rough--nor is his skin soft, its the perfect texture for you to use. its not overbearing--rather soothing in someway. you think he was absolutely made for you to ride.

the little happy trail that leads from his bellybutton to his hard cock tickles your cunt, the small hairs shamelessly coated by your juice. it sends shocks of pleasure up your body, and it has you moaning his name over and over.

"that's it," he pants, greedily helping you move, he watches the way your face contorts in pleasure, how your mouth is open, how your tits slightly bounce with every nudge of your hips.

he thinks he's never seen you prettier than you are right now.

"use me, baby. use me all you want," he whispers, looking up at you, knowing that your dancing at the edge of the cliff of your orgasm.

"ah-! fuck there!" you whine, and at the last grind of your hips, you're cumming straight on his abs. thighs twitching, head thrown back as you see stars behind your eyes.

he guides you through your high, strong hands remain on your flesh as he moves you back and fourth repeatedly.

you let out a heaving sigh, and slump into his muscled form. "fuck...you remind me everyday why i love your abs,"

his arms wrap soothingly around your shuddering frame, petting your hair, "only my abs?" he teases.

you look up at him from where your head rests on his chest, "all of you," you giggle, hand traveling down to where his hard and aching cock sits in his sweats.

"mostly your cock, though."

--

this got me out of my writing block. just thought ya'll should know jdbxb reblogs and feedback always appreciated !!!! <3

we don’t talk enough about clingy wakatoshi!

when you do the most ordinary things, he buries his face in the back of your neck and your skin tingles, his breath, warm, his nose rubs against your skin, his lips leave trails of kisses, wakatoshi wraps his arms around your waist, always too tightly, but he never learns, though he’s careful, “you’re gonna kill me one day, toshi!” don’t blame him, you’re just that dear to him, he can’t stay away from you.

he follows you around the house like a lost puppy because he can’t get enough of you. oh, you were just on your way to grab a book from upstairs— wakatoshi is coming with you. may you indulge him and stay in bed all day instead of leaving, so he can hold you and adore every inch of your body.

wakatoshi who doesn’t say a single word and the very first time he did it you thought something was wrong, really, he felt some sort of awkwardness and sudden curiosity, but why, he wants you now, your boyfriend can’t explain it.

“do you need anything, wakatoshi?”

“uh, no. does it bother you? i… i want to be… close to you. may i?” he makes a habit out of it.

wakatoshi who cups your face with his big hands and holds your face for way too long before leaving— he’ll miss you too much. who memorizes the texture of your skin, each pore is tattooed in his memory, your warmth, the collision between his palms and your cheeks, how sweetly your eyes love him, “take care of yourself. for me. i love you.” that for me felt too serious.

he stares at your lips and when you talk, he wants to remember that forever and he kisses them- wakatoshi will remember that too, he won’t drink anything for hours just to enjoy the taste you left. he’d die of dehydration before letting it go.

who showers with you unannounced instead of waiting, he’s too impatient for his own good sometimes. he feels alive when your body is pressed against his, wet and too hot, like a human, “i love you.”

likes, comments, reblogs & feedback are very appreciated !!!🤍🤍🤍

absolute pitch # u. wakatoshi | 2k words

↳ ushijima has trouble keeping you in his arms through the night; he comes up with an oddly ingenious solution.

for the simple pleasures collab hosted by @augustinewrites <3

Ushijima runs hot. He’d never realised this until two years ago when you pointed it out to him on your third date.

“You’re really hot.” were your exact words, and he almost tripped over nothing.

“Sorry?”

You half-hiccuped, half-giggled at his reaction, and the sound chimed in his ears. You were cute when you were tipsy, especially when you started whining a few glasses in because he couldn’t drink with you, a circumstance attributed to his dietician. 

(By the end of the night though, he’d had a sip or two. It was impossible to deny you.)

“I mean, you’re really warm,” you clarified because he was definitely gawking. “Like a human heater.”

Since then, Ushijima became almost hyper-aware of how much heat he emanated. Not that it concerned him. It meant packing less for games in colder locations, no bathroom breaks during long movies, less time spent making his bed in the morning because he didn’t need a blanket.

If anything, him running hot was a good thing. At least, Ushijima thought it was until he stayed the night with you for the very first time.

Because though he’d fallen asleep with your head tucked towards his chest and your hand over his heart, he’d awoken the next morning on the other side of the bed, sweating like he’d just played an entire set. 

That was how Ushijima learned the one downside of running hot: his body couldn’t physically withstand anything over an hour’s worth of cuddling. Which was terrible because, well, he really liked doing it with you.

When you moved in together, though he willed himself to keep you in his embrace before going to bed every night, the same tragedy always befell him come morning. Once, he even woke up with half his body hanging off the mattress. 

“It’s okay, baby. Honestly,” you said when he brought it up a week after settling into the new place. The smell of stale, unlived in air still clung to the walls.

You looked unbothered. Maybe… “Do you prefer it that we don’t—”

“No! No, of course not!” Ushijima was worried you’d get whiplash from how feverishly you shook your head. “I like cuddling with you at night, Toshi. But I know you get antsy when you’re warm. It’s probably just a subconscious response that you roll away. To avoid body heat, you know?”

You’d stared at him with so much reassurance, compassion, adoration; his heart ached. Ushijima wanted to lift you onto the nearest surface and kiss you breathless in hopes you’d understand how much you meant to him. He would’ve, but you were wearing shorts, and he remembered how you’d jolted from the cold after he set you down on the kitchen counter while kissing you that one time.

Sometimes, and maybe it’s mean of him, Ushijima puts off immediately reuniting with you after a game out of town just to watch you from afar, in awe that no matter who looked at you, he was the person you were waiting for; he was the only person who could call you his. 

Which was what made his predicament even more frustrating. 

He’s always taken pride in the fact that he’s made it so far in his career. He enjoys the vigour of his lifestyle; the intense training, the travelling, the purpose. It keeps him busy, keeps his life in check. He’s never once regretted devoting his all into volleyball.

But sometimes—when he hears you try to hide the fatigue brining your voice during the video calls while he’s away or on the days he has to carry you into bed because you’d fallen asleep waiting for him at the dining table—Ushijima can’t stifle the guilt that rouses in him. He spends so much time away from home, from you, that sometimes he forgets just how pleasantly cold your skin is compared to his, how tender your gaze becomes when it’s directed at him, how delicately your smile stretches the plush of your lips.

So he can hardly be blamed for wanting to spend what rare nights he has with you as close as humanly possible. Ushijima’s tried everything to try and force himself to remain by your side through the night—weighted blankets, melatonin pills, insisting you sleep on his arm to root him in place, sleeping shirtless to decrease his body temperature (you seemed disappointed when he stopped doing that last one)—but nothing worked. 

But if there’s one thing Ushijima’s learned from volleyball it’s this: to adapt is to win. There’s never a guarantee what his opponent will do next, which is why he knows the best thing he can do when something unexpected comes his way is take it in stride and adapt.

Which is why, on off days like today, Ushijima wakes up thirty minutes earlier than he should. 

Because he may be a world-class athlete, but he can’t train his body to reduce the amount of heat it exudes. All he can do is accept the fact that he isn’t built to spend an entire night with someone in his arms without overheating. So, he settles for this instead: waking up thirty minutes earlier so he can use that time to cuddle.

(Heat pricks his ears at the word. It sounds childish, but it’s exactly what he’s doing. He wishes there was another term for it.)

Thirty minutes, however, is barely a blip in the grand scheme of things. Ushijima wastes no time in draping his arm across your waist and nuzzling his face into the softness of your shirt, breathing you in. The first few times he did this, he dozed off. Which would’ve been fine—it’s an off day—if not for the fact that unconscious, his body will inevitably stray from yours.

So, when drowsiness begins seeping into his limbs, Ushijima reaches forward and, though he is no artist, sketches you with the feather-lightness of his fingertip. Every curve, dip, slope of your face he passes his thumb over to stow in his mind, to unearth on the days he spends away so the sight of you never dilutes. 

Usually he does this as gently as he can so he doesn’t wake you, but today you’re wearing one of his wide-collared shirts, the ones that slip down your arm to reveal your skin mottled by sunlight filtering through the sheers. 

So how is he meant to resist dragging his lips over your clavicle to the tip of your shoulder? How can he not linger there, let your skin cool his own, bringing him to an equilibrium?

He smooths his thumb over your lips, the flesh whispery like chiffon. He has half the mind to abandon his guilty conscience to kiss you awake. Ushijima doesn’t have to though, because before he knows it, your mouth is curving upward and your fingers are wrapping themselves around his wrist to keep his thumb pressing into your smile.

“G’morning, Toshi.”

Your voice is filmed with sleep, your eyelids barely open. He lets you curl his fingers into a fist and watches as you ghost your lips across the grooves of his knuckles. Ushijima wonders if he could ever love you more.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, if only to keep himself grounded in reality. 

Your kisses travel to his wrist, to the single prominent vein which spindles upward to burgeon in his palm. When you hum an affirmative it sends vibrations along his pulse point.

Ushijima cups the back of your head and guides it to rest against his chest, his left arm lacing tighter around your waist. If his estimates are accurate, he has ten minutes left. He wishes he had longer.

“You’re so warm, darling,” you tell him, almost absentmindedly.

Are you uncomfortable? You must be. Winter has begun to winnow from summer’s sweltering winds; certainly that paired with Ushijima’s own startling heat would be borderline oppressive.  

But when he shifts to pry himself away, you bunch the material of his shirt in your hands to stop him. 

“Don’t go.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. “You feel nice.”

Ushijima should’ve known better. Of course, you’d find no contentions with his body heat. When have you ever? You revel in it, crave it even, because the heat is inherent to him, and you love him without conditions. 

Because you’ve learned to adapt, too. 

You and Ushijima dance to different tunes. Even undying love cannot alter the simple truth that each of your notes differ on a near structural level—coloured by your past experiences, your upbringing, your contrasting dispositions—because at the end of the day, you and him are different people. There is no harmony when you and Ushijima’s songs collide, only dissonance, but over the years, as you’ve designated crevices in yourselves specially curated for the other, you’ve each adapted your songs to fit the best they can.

It’s been three years since Ushijima has known you, two since you told him how hot he ran, and in that time, both of you have attained absolute pitch; learned to play the other’s tune merely by sound; borrowed and incorporated each other’s notes into your own song. So while there is no true harmony in the orchestra of your relationship, sometimes, if he strains his ears, Ushijima can hear your melody and his weaving to create something not necessarily right, but beautiful regardless. Because those few seconds of not-quite harmony are born from effort, from wanting to conduct something dulcet together in spite of the way Ushijima’s tempo may run faster than yours at times and your pitch a little higher than his in others. 

Your not-quite harmony is a culmination of the little things you do for each other, to adapt for one another, like drying his hair while he rewatches games, dabbing your makeup away when you’re too exhausted to, sticking peppy messages scratched in ballpoint on the fridge for him, or, even, waking up thirty minutes earlier just so he can bask in your love if only for a second longer.

His alarm beeps once, twice, thrice, before Ushijima silences it.

“We should get up now,” he rasps against your forehead because that’s what the sound means. 

Your breath blankets his cheek, his thumb caresses your hip. 

“I know. I’ll go wash my face,” you say but you don’t move.

“Okay,” he says but his hold of you doesn’t loosen.

And maybe the two of you stay that way longer than you should. Maybe the half-hour stretches to one instead as you catch him up on what he’d missed while he was away—the Alphonso mangoes on sale at the grocery store, how you’d found the left side of your favourite pair of woolly socks behind the washing machine, the orange peel and honeysuckle scented hand lotion you’d been eyeing ceasing production—and he memorises the softness of your skin beneath his palm. 

You tell him about all the trivial happenings, though Ushjima doesn’t like calling them that because the way you recount them makes him feel as if he were there living through it with you—juggling the weight of ripe fruit between his hands, shining his phone’s flashlight behind the washing machine for a glimpse of kitten-patterned wool, hearing the clicks of your mouse as you reload and reload the fragrance store’s website. And suddenly, he can’t wait to officially start the day because there are dozens of mundane things—simple pleasures—he won’t need to vicariously experience a week too late. 

Because he gets to do them, with you, today.

But Ushijima thinks just a second longer in bed surely won’t hurt because he can’t imagine getting up any time soon. Not when he has you like this, not when he’s teeming with the knowledge that you are the only person in the world who knows his song by heart as he does yours, that in this moment, he can hear the not-quite harmony the two of you have built for yourselves from the simple pleasures, from all and nothing but the simple pleasures.

Next door neighbor Ushijima who, despite his 6 foot 4 glory, is like a ghost. No one has seen him move in, you just noticed the doorbell panel change one day and figured. Always out and about before you are and not yet back when you come home. You’ve been lucky to catch a glimpse of his broad back one day as he left, always hearing the older ladies living in the apartment complex talk about the handsome young man who just moved in.

Who, when you finally met, quite literally took your breath away when you bumped into him as you pushed open the door of the laundry room with your back because you were holding onto the laundry basket, quite sure you just ran into a concrete wall. Who apologized despite it not being his fault and offered to carry your basket, leaving you a flustered mess because the grannies were right.

Who’s apartment is so clean and neat it’s almost sterile, like straight out of a catalog. No cushions on his sofa, no candles on the coffee table, and it seems like he just bought some picture frames and never changed the default pictures, only looking for some color on the wall.

Who goes to the market regularly to buy fresh vegetables and chats with the elderly lady running the stand, asking for recommendations and exchanging recipes with her.

Who always extends his hand, signaling “after you” when you’re both on your way downstairs, letting you go first. Who lingers at the bottom of the stairs for a bit longer when you go up in front of him to bring some space in between you two to avoid making you uncomfortable.

Who always makes sure to greet you when you meet, mumbling “Good morning” in a kind of low grumble and with the corners of his mouth ever so slightly turned up that you feel your face heating up uncontrollably, an odd sense of warmth swarming in your chest.

Who, despite his stoic nature, never fails to pat the dog across the street on the head, no matter the rush he is in, smiling a rare smile so breathtaking when the big Labrador nudges his arm with the top of his head, demanding more pats. Who always makes sure to put dog treats on his shopping list, although he doesn’t own a dog himself.

Who never once misses calling his mother on Sundays, nodding and humming along to the same old “Are you eating well?”, “Remember to change to a warmer duvet” and “Bring an umbrella, I heard the weather is getting worse.”

Who thanks his roomba for the hard work when he comes back home after a long day of practice because he’s appreciative of the help, no matter if it can apprehend his gratitude or not.

From who’s balcony you can always hear the muffled sounds of a volleyball game playing on TV on one of his off-days, occasionally interrupted by a faint, mumbled cheer, because he’s a man of insatiable passion.

Who finds a weird sense of agitation sprouting in his chest when he doesn’t see your car parked in the driveway when he comes home because it’s odd. Who stays up a bit past his usual bedtime that day, lounging in front of the TV and straightening his back every so often to be able to catch a glimpse of the street, uneasiness fading once he sees your car pull up.

Next door neighbor Ushijima who is adorable in his own little glorious, matter-of-fact way. Who shows that he cares with his actions rather than his words because it comes so much easier to him. He owns my heart.

Beep (Ushijima Wakatoshi)

Muffled sounds of continuous beeping was all he heard when he came to. He blinked with bleary eyes as he felt a warm sensation on his chest. It felt like someone was touching him.

Ushijima looked to the side slowly and saw a figure beside him. He squinted his eyes, trying to focus his vision. He couldn't make out who it was that was touching him.

Now, he knew that some of his fans—with being a professional volleyball player—didn't just like him for his plays and moves. You and Tendou had once taught him that some of them like him for his looks, especially his body. He did get it eventually but he didn't give those kinds of fans the luxury of his attention, especially when it made you upset.

"Wakatoshi? Are you awake?"

He let out a hum, which was actually a groan, trying to wiggle his shoulder to shove the person's hand away but the anaesthesia that was injected into him wasn’t helping.

“Please…,” he said softly but with a strained voice, “Please stop… touching me…”

“Hm? What was that?”

“My wife… she’ll get upset.” He let out a breath. “Please… don’t touch me anymore. I… need my wife. Where's… my wife?" He tried bracing himself on his elbows to try and look for you but he was too drugged up to continue.

“Wakatoshi, I am your wife.” You giggled from beside him. You brushed his hair away from his face as he stared at you intently. He was doubtful at first. You could be one of those crazy fans Tendou warned him about. He tried focusing his vision. You had the same hair, face shape and eyes. But in Ushijima’s drugged up mind, you were still a stranger. He was only able to recognise you when you flashed him a smile—the one reserved only for him.

He said your name softly. The beeping sound echoing around the room increased as his heart rate quickened at the realisation that you, his wife, was there beside him. His eyes glossed over with pure adoration for you.

“‘Toshi calm down.” You chuckled and kissed his forehead. That made the heart monitor beep even faster.

-

inspiration

a/n: yea. i know. i should get creative with my titles.

-

4/11/22

wakatoshi loves to squeeze your cheeks and it’s so funny, i’m telling you. he can’t help himself, it was so random and unexpected when he did it for the first time. he usually does it when you’re in front of him and you’re literally unable to speak because he won’t stop squeezing your cheeks. but truly, wakatoshi doesn’t mean to interrupt you, he’s listening, as always. but can you really blame him? he’s smitten, so, so in love with you and it’s so silly. you’re too cute in his eyes. you always have to tell him to stop, to which he always replies with, “i’m sorry.”

every single time it’s a genuine apology. and every single time wakatoshi has the same look in his eyes— that of a man who’s just fallen in love again and who does it every single time he looks at you. that’s why he does it after all. not to annoy you, (he never does that, at least not on purpose) but rather to love you and savor every inch of you more.

I hope at night when my psyduck plushie comes to life she likes me as much as I like her and continues to snuggle with me

Got the video on youtube! (now with music heehee)

James doesn't know that they're retiring from the anime yet

Bonus: This is a smokeless garden

#throwing a bitch tantrum

Glass Onion (2022) + Art

snow [ gojo satoru x reader ]

✾ warnings: clingy gojo

✾ synopsis: your boyfriend is feeling sentimental, and wants you to stay a while longer. after all, how could one sleepover make up for a whole week's worth of you time?

✾ notes: i think he deserves a very big long hug i lovehim

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

"alright, i'll be off now!" you tell your pouting boyfriend, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. he still refuses to let go of you, like a sad little child who's afraid of being separated from his only anchor. you cup his face in your hands. "satoru, you'll see me tomorrow, stop making that face."

he hums in response, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch.

you're warm, a much needed contrast to the cold, snowing december afternoon. the warmth fills the little void in gojo's heart; the one he never speaks of.

you fit so snugly in his arms, your fingers lace so easily with his, and his face fits so perfectly in the crook of your neck, that he wonders whether you were made for him, or he, for you. you're the piece of him he hopes he never has to live without.

his heart misses you terribly whenever you're not around.

"is something wrong, baby?" you ask, a bit worried by his behaviour. "you know i love you very much, 'toru."

pulling you into a gentle hug, he breathes in your scent. "i love you too, sweetheart. nothing's wrong, don't worry."

you open your mouth to argue, but he's already ushering you to the door. "text me when you're home, okay? drive safely!"

he opens the door, and the two of you come to a sudden halt in front of the 4 foot layer of snow outside. neither of you say anything for a moment.

then, a grin breaks out on your menace of a boyfriend's face.

"guess you're stuck with me for a while longer, angel." when he finally speaks, he sounds almost triumphant.

gojo knows he isn't supposed to be happy about being snowed in, but boy is he absolutely elated. in his defense, it'd been a long week, and he badly missed your warm embrace; the way your bodies seemed to fuse together, your fingers threaded delicately through his hair. one sleepover could not make up for a week's worth of cuddles.

to make matters worse, he was feeling emotional. sentimental, even. he felt like peppering kisses on every inch of your face; felt like loving you as if there was no tomorrow.

"not a bad way to spend what's remaining of the weekend." you muse, intertwining your fingers with his as you make your way back into his living room. settling down on the couch with you on his lap, he buries his face in your chest.

"do... you wanna tell me what's up? why were you acting like a little puppy just now?"

"was not," gojo mumbles.

"i'm listening," you gently push, stroking his soft, smooth hair. he sighs. whether in contentment or defeat, you're not sure.

"just missed you." he presses a chaste kiss to your neck. "warm,"

you laugh, and he feels like a lovesick high schooler all over again.

"should've told me to stay longer, 'toru." you flick his forehead lightly. "i missed you too, so much. i would've gladly said yes."

"well, you're here now." he looks up, and his beautiful cerulean eyes meet yours. a soft smile graces his handsome face.

"i am." you agree, leaning in so the tips of your noses are touching.

"i love you." he whispers.

"i love you too," you manage, before he closes the gap between the two of you, pulling you into a deep kiss.

taglist: @mykyoon @nishayuro @maxxs-world @nico707 @dreamsfo @shuxjodie

Square dog dog with no socks.. dog that only somewhat looks like a dog dog with sheep body dog that looks like an electron and spherical dog

um … compilation

i need to know every language immediately

The person I reblogged this from deserves to be happy

I tried to scroll past this. I really did

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

* body language masterlist

* a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

* a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

* 550 words to say instead of fuckin said

* 638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

* some more body language help

(hope this helps some ppl)

thinking about bakugo katsuki, who just wants to prove to you more than anything that he'd be an amazing boyfriend.

it begins with little things.

he tells you if there's something on your face, if there's something in between your teeth that hinders your beautiful smile. he tells you if your tie or uniform is out of place but can never hold back a 'be more careful, idiot' as he helps you fix the stray mistake. he looks away when you laugh at his preciseness. he stops your cup of water from falling over, puts his hands over any hazards that will hurt if you bump into them, all those kinds of small things.

he gives you all of his attention when you directly address him. whether it be a comment, a compliment, or a question, bakugo always gives you 100% of himself as long as you're direct with him.

even if you don't specifically speak to him, he always listens too.

you could be talking to mina about a movie you watched and bakugo will be listening, leaning back in his seat, not even looking in your direction yet his ears are ENGAGED, he's taking in every word you say. he even searches the movie up later.

not that he wants to watch it- bakugo has no time to waste on these things. he's saving it for when he can watch it with you.

he always watches your reactions first whenever in a group. whether it be in class and being told about some exciting projects - internships, camps, whatever, bakugo always keens to gauge how you respond. alternatively, it could be bakugo and kirishima's turn to make dinner (bakugo carries), and the second it is served bakugo's watching intently for your reaction.

(he only agreed to making dinner because kirishima bribed him. how? well, he mentioned your name and bakugo got straight to washing the vegetables.)

his little acts then evolve. he saves seats for you at lunch when you can't make it to the cafeteria in time or when he knows you're too busy that you won't make it in time to get a portion of your favourite lunch, so he buys it for you.

you always thank him for his kindness and begin to repay him but bakugo always rejects it, waving you off. 'don't do it again because i'm not doing this for you again', he mutters and you simply smile because you both know there is a next time.

he grabs your hero suitcase for you, going out of his way to do this for no one else but you. he accepts your pleads for help whenever there's something from the classwork you can't understand, smirking triumphantly at deku and momo - the top students of the class, who are confused at bakugo's sudden smugness.

eventually you get comfortable with him, to the point that physical touch is not a big deal anymore. the first time you take the risk was laying your forehead on his shoulder from fatigue and almost everyone around you gawks at the collected expression bakugo wears.

you had muttered a quick 'sorry' as you lifted your head up but the blond grunts in response, not sure how else to say that it's okay and you can lean on him any time.

denki then tries to do so and almost gets half his hair charred off.

it then evolves to the point that bakugo's known you long enough to have memorised your orders at fast food chains, cafes, boba shops, etc. and he often buys your favourite snacks whenever he visits the local 7/11, and when he delivers them, you give him the brightest smile he's ever seen and the explosive blond knows that the slow decrease in funds of his bank account is totally worth it if it means he gets to make you happy. he often masks his feelings with a 'tch' before storming off.

90% of bakugo's language is insults, but he is mindful to never throw them at you. he doesn't want you to doubt yourself for one second, whether it be your strength, smarts, beauty, etc, he's mindful to exempt you from his 'extras' phrase, because you're probably the only special one to him from everyone in the class.

and he knows you're special because one night, you take him outside the dorms and onto the balcony, asking him out on a date and he almost explodes himself into the air with joy. his cheeks fluster up- so uncharacteristic of him, and he tries to keep up a 'cool guy facade' whilst accepting your offer.

"get ready, cause i'm about to take you out on the date of your fuckin' life."

"wh- bakugo, i was the one who asked!"

"and i'm gonna be the best boyfriend ever, so leave this shit to me!"

thinking about bakugo, who is known to be hard-to-date, unapproachable, unlikeable unless he kept his mouth shut.

thinking about bakugo katsuki, who is absolutely 'the best' boyfriend ever because you have never doubted his love for you for a single second, and he makes sure you never will.

suggestive. college au boyfriend!bakugou. installment II “poor timing”

He’s barely awake when he picks up his phone from where it’s charging near the bed, blearily sliding in one of his amplifiers as he presses it to the side of his head.

“Th’fuck are you callin’ me at 2am for?”

Kirishima pauses from his side of the line, curious male voices leaking into the speaker that irritate in their familiarity. “Are you just waking up?”

“What the fuck else would I be doing?”

“That’s what I’m wondering too.” He plops himself on the large bean bag sitting in the middle of his roommates floor, after knocking on his door for what felt like hours. Kaminari starfishes against his comforter, and he has to snap a few times to stop Sero from going through his friend’s stuff.

“Dude, where are you?” He asks. “Your truck’s not in the parking lot. Are you at a hotel?”

Bakugou stays silent for a long moment, fleeting as it is, it's a little disconcerting, and the chat runs empty as the sound of a running fan hisses through the static.

He sighs, brief movement stirs sleepily under his bicep and he figures it’s best to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “I’m with ____.”

“You’re-“ Kirishima stammers a little. “Can you say that again?”

“I’m at _____’s apartment.” Bakugou repeats himself - he’s obviously trying to be quiet.

“No fucking way! Dude?!” Kaminari chimes in from somewhere in the room, because of course he’s on speaker. “Like is she right next to you?”

“Can you be any fuckin’ louder?!” Bakugou whisper-yells.

“She totally is, isn’t she?” Sero chimes in. “Did you two fuck?”

Kirishima grimaces up at him from where he’s sitting. “Don’t be crude.” Though, he hesitates a moment before speaking a little closer to the speaker. “Wait, did you?”

Bakugou kisses his teeth. “What the hell was so fuckin’ important that you had to call me at two in the morning anyway?”

“Well, those of us who weren’t out getting some wanted to know if you wanted to play DnD. Since it’s the weekend and all.” Sero says.

“But I guess now you’re too good for the loser club, now that you’re some bigshot with a hot girlfriend.” Kaminari pouts.

Bakugou audibly scoffs. “I was never a part of the loser club to begin with.”

“Says the guy who’s gonna make us look for another DM in the middle of a campaign.” Kirishima retorts. “Seriously, you couldn’t have picked a better night to fuck ____? With you two gone Jirou’s gonna wanna take over your post - and she always gives us the worst scenarios.”

“They’re not that bad.” Bakugou jumps a little when the hand around his waist slithers to wipe at her sleepy eyes, cursing hushedly before the men hear him quietly apologize away from the speaker.

His three friends blush as a familiar voice leaks softly into the receiver.

“What’re you doing…?”

“…Nothin’, angel. Go back to sleep.”

The three squeal in unison.

Bakugou kisses his teeth again, whispering angrily into the speaker. “Shut the fuck up. And don’t call me this late, again!”

Click!

Okay but I’d like to talk about this clip because i am literally obsessed

The music in the background gives me chills, the way Touya is basically “listening” and smiling at how his influence has put doubts in society and broke their trust on heroes, how he finally is getting slowly but surely his justice

The way the camera goes around Touya, almost showing how Touya now has the society wrapped around his fingers, the hands near his ears, listening and enjoying the “chaos” he created

I was looking into break rooms (those places that give u a bat and let u smash stuff) and this line got me

In case you didn't know, I had the honor of designing Tumblr's spooky new app logo

Funky i like it

gaze up at the sky okami ost