Cw: Gojo's Past Arc Spoilers, Implied Sex, Suggestive, Kissing

“do you ever regret it?” you ask. “loving me?”

“why would i ever regret that?” he asks in a low whisper, fingertips drawing invisible lines on your exposed hip bone.

“i feel like…” you pause, sighing as you turn your head to the ceiling on his chest. “i feel like we’re holding each other back.”

satoru is quiet. he holds his breath, fingers halting on your skin.

“i wouldn’t want someone using me just to get you,” you elaborate, and gojo exhales. “i feel like…i don’t know. we keep each other weak?” you looking up at him, a hand leaning on a smooth chest. your eyes pour into his endless ocean. “i keep you weak.”

he keeps looking at you for a few seconds before a hand reaches up to cup your cheek. “you keep me sane.”

you pout just a bit, and satoru pulls you up to kiss it away. “you keep me tied down. grounded.” he tugs your hair away from your face as your arm cages his bigger body underneath you. “if anything, the fact that you’re the only weak spot i have says a lot.”

“i don’t want you to have a weak spot because of me.”

“i wouldn’t have it any other way,” he pushes you down to your previous position, a hand climbing to your hair while the other returns to your hip.

you stay quiet this time around, unconvinced, weighed down by your own overthinking. he comforts you like this, fingers massaging your scalp, calm breathes lulling you to sleepiness.

“i know choosing to be in a relationship this serious in a life like ours is risky,” satoru mumbles some time later. he squeezes you in, turning to fully face your body. “but i won’t find this anywhere else.”

you look up, and he finally sees the little tears clouding your vision. a smile stretches his lips pleasantly and a hand raises to swipe a thumb under a tearful eye, and you lean in his touch like a starved kitten.

“i won’t find you anywhere else.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

pls reblog so i can find my old followers again!:(

i wanna see usurper!gojo's courting shenanigans plsplspls

in which gojo satoru, your beloved king and betrothed, knows his time is best spent in your company riling you up.

gojo satoru x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k genre: fluff, royal au, childhood friends to lovers type: one-shot reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, fem clothing including dresses) warnings: once again hes pushy n the reader's a lil bit hesitant but hed stop if she rlly wanted, vague references to violence note: see i was gonna do a few lil scenes but the first one got away from me.... but basically the period of him courting the reader (which full disclosure isnt technically courting bc that should be happening before one proposes but this occurs while theyre engaged bc Gojo Didnt Get That Memo but i digress) is just him being WILDLY inappropriate for cultural standards, everyone silently pitying the reader, and the reader having a whole ton of conflicting emotions but ultimately rlly liking it 😭😭😭

usurper!gojo tag || masterlist

“they say you’re inhuman, you know.” you’ve finished the flower chain. his eyes don’t stray from your fingers as they nimbly connect the two ends and tie them together with a final stem into a thick circlet. “they said it a lot that night. they said you were the gods’ fury made mortal.”

he snickers. “how dramatic.”

you lift yourself up onto your thighs, shuffle towards him further and reach out, and he bows his head to let you place your creation upon it. your hand trails down when you let go, drifting over his ear and along his jaw as he lifts his head from its bow to look at you. you certainly mean to pull it away but his hand beats you to it, darting up to keep your palm against his cheek as you settle back down on the backs of your heels.

“i know why they came to that conclusion,” you say. “you terrified me when i saw you.”

“did you think me inhuman?”

you hum, eyes tracing along the band of flowers now gracing his forehead, falling to rest on his hand over yours. “no. never. monstrous, perhaps. odious. but very human.”

Satoru finds you out on the grounds, tucked away at the edge where the manicured gardens give way to rough forest. The weather has been turbulent, but for the first time since the coup there’s enough sun to stand being outside the castle longer than a scant few minutes. You’d said that morning that you planned to venture out, now that early spring flowers were beginning to bloom.

You’re cloaked in heavy furs, layers of skirts and wool protecting you from the cold, all elaborate garments that he’s gifted you. It's adorable (satisfying) to see you dressed up in his presents. He tells you as much when he finds you, delves into the treeline long before you see him so that he can sneak up upon you and whisper it into your ear to make you yelp and jump away.

“You mongrel,” you accuse with wide eyes and a hand on your heart as you work to steady your breathing. “Have you no respect for your future wife?”

“Ah, she admits it readily now? Progress.”

Your face twists as if someone has struck you. He chooses to ignore it and drops to sit sprawled out on the grass, beckoning unabashedly for you to join him on his lap. You won’t relent, he’s well aware, but he’ll have his desires known either way.

“Presumptuous,” you say. He'd die a happy man if you kissed him as many times as you called him that, but in lack of the former he’ll be content with the latter.

“Sit with me, my queen. I've missed you.”

“I am not yet your queen, Satoru,” you correct out of obligation. “You saw me an hour ago, we ate together.”

“Ah, but every moment apart is agony.” Satoru wonders if you know how serious he is beneath the breezy tone. From the way you wrinkle your nose, he doubts it.

“You have a meeting with your advisors now. You should not be out here.”

He pouts. “But you’re out here, and if I have to spend more time with those old fools than you today then I'll throw a tantrum tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, let out a sigh that sounds long-suffering, but you shift your skirts and ease yourself down to sit gracefully before him with your legs tucked next to you. His threats aren’t empty and you know it.

“Fine.” You look down, as if inspecting the grass, spreading fingers along the blades as you begin to pluck wildflowers. Then you pause and glance up at him. “Remove those… oh, whatever they are. Let me see your eyes unhindered, at least.”

“Anything for my darling bride,” he coos at you, immediately doing as asked. He’d have done so anyway, if only to watch you lose yourself in staring when he reveals his eyes, catching yourself once he blinks and snapping your head back to the ground to busy yourself once more with plucking your blooms.

“How do you see a thing through those,” you grumble lowly, certainly just to break yourself from being flustered. It works too well; Satoru immediately jumps on the chance you’ve given him.

“Would you like to try them?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for a response, mind already conjuring an image of you draped in every golden chain and precious stone gracing his chambers.

He removes them from his face, pulling the chain from around his neck, and swiftly transfers them to yours before you can refuse—tilts your head up to look at him and tugs your hair out of the way with deft fingers, eases the gilded extremities onto your ears and lets the pads of his digits linger on either side of your head before pulling away. Pausing in your work and tilting your head back down to peer at him over the top of the frames, you blink at him owlishly from behind the glass, unused to staring through it. Precious, he thinks, and wishes briefly to kiss you—but he has to be smart about kissing you, calculating. Too much attention too fast and you have a tendency to pull away from him like the ebbing tide. It's agony for him, wanting nothing more than to hold you as much as he wishes, but as much as he wants there’s very little he hates more than when you tense under his touch and turn away from him.

“They suit you better,” he tells you, because they do. You look good adorned with jewelry of his design. “You oughtn’t wear them in public, though, or all the courtiers will be scrambling to get themselves a pair. Just for me, I suppose.”

Your nose wrinkles at the mention of your newfound influence, eyes darting to the side and lower lip pouting, an expression that makes him cast aside all his convoluted schemes to ease you into his affections. He leans down to peck at your lips, kiss away the pout, gone before you can complain. It’s fast enough that you don’t immediately recoil and give him a lecture on decorum, or perhaps you’re simply getting more used to it.

Satoru’s attention doesn’t stray as you return to your work. You’ve gravitated towards flowers with long stems, he realizes; collected them in a pile on your skirts, which you seem to have deemed large enough as you pick a notably long one up and begin to string them together in a chain. You don’t bother removing his glasses either, simply allowing them to slide down to the end of your nose. The golden chain clinks softly with every movement of your head.

He wonders when you learned to make them. You’ve always been so careful about the skills you acquire, but he thinks perhaps your mother might have taught you. Or his aunt, for how much she loves flowers, and for how much of her time as queen (he’s been told anyway) was spent doing such frivolous things as making daisy chains in the gardens. You’re so very meticulous with your actions, every choice carefully constructed. He knows you’ve been doing that less and less around him—perhaps it’s finally sinking in that he cares very little about your actions, that he finds everything you do to be enthralling. More likely you’ve exhausted yourself trying. You’ve certainly exhausted yourself attempting to rein him in, though he’d like to believe you’re beginning to allow yourself to enjoy his antics.

Posterity, he thinks, will paint him as you do—bold, brash, uncaring of tradition, unapologetic in pursuit of a woman far beneath his status. There are a great many reasons you hesitate to marry him, he doesn’t blame you for your doubt. Certainly when he was younger he’d never imagined himself the type of man you’d end up betrothed to; he couldn’t count on his fingers the number of more suitable matches for the both of you in the eyes of society, but whereas in his youth he might silence himself and go along with the whims of his advisors he’s lost all sense of decency now. His close call with death and the coup he’d spent years preparing for had rid him of any desire to compromise, and he stands now in a position where he can certainly refuse the very people who once held sway over him. And you appreciate all of that, he knows it. It’s one of the reasons he adores you so; beneath your veneer of decorum lies not a lady but a queen with desires all too different from those you’ve been forced to portray. He’s always known this, and to an extent he can’t find it within himself to regret the events that have led him to where he is today because if they hadn’t transpired he wouldn’t have you.

Satoru remembers a time in his youth when his mother made a passing mention that she enjoyed a certain hairstyle on young girls—two long braids, tied with ribbons. For months afterward all the upcoming court ladies wore it diligently, yourself included. He found it painful to see on you until he discovered that they made a lovely way to pull your nose from a book and fix your attention onto him, and that he could tug on the ribbons at the ends until they unfurled and he could pocket them to return later by tying them around the necks of one of his hunting dogs and sending it after you.

(If he were the kind of man you’d marry without hesitation he’d feel remorse for his childhood actions. Instead he’s the man you will marry, and he plots how to steal one of your hair ribbons again and return it in the same way. For memory’s sake.)

“They say you’re inhuman, you know.” You’ve finished the flower chain. His eyes don’t stray from your fingers as they nimbly connect the two ends and tie them together with a final stem into a thick circlet. “They said it a lot that night. They said you were the Gods’ fury made mortal.”

He snickers. “How dramatic.”

You lift yourself up onto your thighs, shuffle towards him further and reach out, and he bows his head to let you place your creation upon it. Your hand trails down when you let go, drifting over his ear and along his jaw as he lifts his head from its bow to look at you. You certainly mean to pull it away but his hand beats you to it, darting up to keep your palm against his cheek as you settle back down on the backs of your heels.

“I know why they came to that conclusion,” you say. “You terrified me when I saw you.”

“Did you think me inhuman?”

You hum, eyes tracing along the band of flowers now gracing his forehead, falling to rest on his hand over yours. “No. Never. Monstrous, perhaps. Odious. But very human.”

“You wound me. I might die by your cruelty.”

“Die, then.”

Satoru makes a show of it just for you. Falling back to sprawl on the ground, he gags violently, stabbing at his own heart with an invisible knife and convulsing with his tongue hanging out until you shriek for him to stop, voice filled with giggles. He takes that as a cue to still, to fall limp as if truly dead with eyes fluttering shut—then beckons you closer.

“I need…” he rasps out, barely audible.

You indulge him and do so. “My king?”

“…iss…”

“What?”

“True love’s kiss,” he repeats louder, pursing his lips expectantly. He doesn’t truly think you’ll do it, and you don’t—you lean in like you will, but bypass his lips entirely and bite his cheek instead.

He yelps, just for you, just so you’ll feel accomplished. And so he can see your smile, hear the smugness in your voice as you say, “It’s a miracle, you’ve come back to life.”

But he doesn’t give you weakness for free. No, he snakes his arms around your waist before you can pull back, and uses the grip to all but pull you on top of his lap as he sits up. Perhaps it’s his lack of insistence on you giving him a kiss, or perhaps he’s simply started to break down your walls enough, but whichever it is you don’t protest. Instead you seem to find flaws in the flower crown you’ve gifted him. Your lips purse, hands coming up to fiddle with the blooms. He realizes that he can’t stand a single moment of your attention on anything other than him, even if your fingers are nearly tangled in his hair.

“If I return to court with a crown of flowers made by my lover still on my head, do you suppose they’ll think me less inhuman?”

Your face falls at the suggestion, eyes widening in mortification. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“It's far more comfortable than that heavy gold. And I happen to personally adore the artisan who made it, so—”

“I don't trust you anymore, take it off! You’ve lost the right!” You attempt to remove it, but he reacts with the very reflexes that make him so inhuman, uses that monstrous height to lift his head higher than you can reasonably reach, though it doesn’t stop you from trying.

“It'd be rude of me to refuse a gift, my queen.” Laughing, Satoru holds you back with ease, eager for the excuse to put his hands all over you while you’re too worked up to feel self-conscious.

“Not yet,” you wail. “Not your queen yet, you knave!”

“Mine either way, though,” he replies smugly with a playful tug to the chain you still wear. “Covered in my presents. It’s only fair that I get to display a token you’ve given me, no?”

“No, it is not. You’ve stolen all of my outerwear and replaced it with these, I've no other choice. But you will not return to your advisors displaying that—that childish trifle, I won't allow it, you will not expose to the court that I made such a thing for yo—oh!”

He tackles you to the ground, careful not to even knock the wind out of you, though he steals your breath the moment you’re safe in his arms by pulling you into a kiss to keep you from talking further. He’d intended it to be faster, but his nose crashes into the tinted spectacles still upon your face and he’s filled with such ardor that he can’t help but deepen it.

Your hand slides behind his head, threads through his hair. He feels you snap a single stem between your fingers. The crown comes apart just as he takes a moment to pull away, and the flowers fall to scatter in the grass beneath him, a halo around your head. There’s a little smile on your face, your chest huffs with quiet laughter, and your palm slides down to the base of his hair. You use that hold and your other hand, which has fisted his tunic, to yank him down and connect your lips again.

Above, a cloud passes. Satoru can feel the sun shine warm on his back, hear the wind in the budding trees, smell the bite of melting snow and the petals of your wildflowers, yet there’s nothing that could distract him from the feeling of your kiss. His eyes close, he pushes closer though he hardly needs to with the way you still tug on his shirt. His arm comes up to brace next to your head, just to make sure he’s holding his own weight rather than crushing you, and the other leaves your waist to trail down your thigh and grip beneath your knee, shifting your leg to hook around him. If your mouth weren’t occupied he thinks you’d be lecturing him for such an obscene display in a place where anyone could stumble upon you—so he does well to keep it occupied, refusing to part even as your grip on his tunic loosens and he’s forced to grab your newly freed hand to pin it to the ground with fingers intertwined.

It's the first time you’ve ever kissed him. He already plots how to push you into doing it again when he finally pulls away, eyes locked on your swollen lips.

gojo satoru x reader, MAJOR hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, i just hope i did this blurb justice. NOT EDITED

imagine... gojo saving his s/o mere moments from death and the desperation that follows.

you'd been sent on a mission together, which the special grade sorcerer was very excited for initially since he gets to kick spirit ass with the love of his life. besides, with your help, the mission would be finished much faster and when you're done, he can take you out to a fancy restaurant with the bank he makes by being a sorcerer of his calibre.

not that you don't make bank yourself, but gojo likes to idea of being your 'sugar daddy', even though you tell him that 'it's weird'.

but one thing goes wrong and all of a sudden, you're in the hands of the enemy, helpless and frantic as every card up your sleeve falls to the floor- paralysed to your spot as the curse swallows your every last chance of survival.

this was it and the flash of your life hits you.

violently, too, like a really hard sensation rips through your side, the wind blows against you roughly and you thought that it'd be a little more peaceful- oh wait no, that's gojo picking you up and phasing away.

suddenly every curse has been obliterated and you're overcome with emotions that numb your being. you want to scream, sob, throw up, shake the anxiety away, crawl into a hole and hibernate.

gojo does all of the above for you.

"i thought- i thought- i thought that was it. i thought that was the end," he whispered, frantically cradling your face, hands moving everywhere along your body to make sure that you were still with him.

neither of you have the words to continue, panting together with mismatched breaths and worry-blown eyes. he eagerly ripped his own blindfold off, eyes proceeding to desperately scan every inch of your face and soul, as if gojo was trying to get a better grasp of your cursed energy in reassurance that you were still here.

once it becomes too much, he breaks down with a sob, falling to his knees at your feet as his tears ricochet onto the ground below him, holding onto your hands like they were his lifeline, a piece of you that you could sacrifice to purify his flaws and failures.

he leans his forehead onto your hands, trying to ground his breathing as he holds onto you tightly, as if making sure you couldn't slip through his fingers as delicately as last time.

"i thought- i really thought that you were going to-" gojo can't even finish his sentence before crying again, wheezing and sobbing uncontrollably, "you can't do that to me, y/n, you can't."

his voice breaks as the sorcerer looks up at you with a pool of emotion, expression vulnerable as if he was begging you to look into the fragile state of his heart because it was yours and yours his being would forever be. he surrendered to you, the miracle that has entered his life and forever changed it for the better. he surrendered to you, his lover who he'd go to any lengths for. gojo satoru, the honoured one, surrendered to you because he can sacrifice his measly pride if it means he's guaranteed another day by your side, in a safe haven he never thought he would need.

"you can't pull that on me y/n, y/n, y/n," he shakes as he repeats your name over and over again, whispering it so sacredly as if it were the only word he knew; a mantra that would fix the damage within him at seeing the most important person in his life almost- almost- almost-

you sink to his level with gleaming eyes, tears woefully streaming down your face to join his ones on the concrete below. holding his face oh so gently, you shakily smile, "satoru, i'm okay. i'm okay because of you."

he can't help the sob that rips through him as you lean to press a kiss to his temple, allowing gojo to find solace in your collarbone. he clings onto your clothes so tightly, still desperately searching for the extra reassurance that he didn't fail, not again.

"you can't, y/n, out of all people, it can't be you," he heaves, voice growing softer and breaths growing calmer the longer you hold the delicate man.

"we're okay, satoru, and we'll be okay for a long time."

haha you're so cute when you tell me if you liked that 😁😁 pls reblog... or follow... or like... please?

after the many, many years of being bakugou’s friend, kirishima could say he has never seen his best bud so in love with someone before—so deeply and irrevocably smitten with you.

it was the little things, mostly, that piled up and up until it was so blatantly obvious that bakugou had fallen—and he had fallen hard. making you bentos, hanging around your desk, walking you home… he’d never behaved like this with anyone before, kirishima mused. it was jarring, in a way. but kirishima was happy for his friend, and he couldn’t help but to keep an eye on the two of you whenever he was in the vicinity (whether bakugou knew he was there or not).

lovestruck, was the word that came to kirishima’s bewildered mind the first time he saw bakugou trailing after you. following you like this great shadow around the agency. he never seemed to leave you alone for too long and he’d always have this little pout on his face whenever you’d shoo him away so you could do your own work. kirishima didn’t think bakugou even knew about the extent of his own feelings—not at first, anyways. and when he tried to confront the blond, he’d act all gruff and grouchy, his ears tinted a violent pink.

bakugou could deny it all he wanted, though. kirishima saw right through him.

what really cemented everything for kirishima—really hammered it in that his best friend was finally getting some of the happiness he deserved—was the time bakugou had caught you from falling off a ladder.

you’d been trying to hang up some decorations around the agency—to “brighten things up a bit” you’d said. kirishima had been too far away at the time—but he still saw the moment you’d leaned just a bit too far to the right. the moment your foot had slipped and you’d tumbled off that tall ladder with a small yelp.

bakugou had been exiting his office at that precise moment. and kirishima swore he had never seen his friend run so fucking fast before in his life. a small explosion propelled him forward—charring the wood and frame of his office door. just so he could catch you before you cracked your head open on the floor.

kirishima watched—from his position across the agency, his legs tensed—as bakugou held you tight within his arms and looked down at your shaken form. he watched as bakugou played off his breathlessness as though he hadn’t just dead sprinted across the hall to get to you on time. you wouldn’t ever know, kirishima thought to himself, how desperate bakugou would have to be to move that fast. and kirishima finally relaxed his stance once he saw bakugou set you carefully down on the ground, hovering over you as he scolded you for being so inattentive. you only rubbed the back of your head as you smiled sheepishly up at him. if bakugou hadn’t been smitten before, he certainly was now.

kirishima couldn’t have been happier, really. and he found himself quietly slipping away, a smile on his face at the idea of bakugou finally, finally being in love.

i’m sat

general relativity for babies

- While the media calls it the resistance of the Ukrainian people to the Russian invasion, on the other hand, the resistance of the Palestinian people to the Israeli occupation is called terrorism.

"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐘𝗼𝐮 𝐒𝐚𝐲?"

⤷ atsumu x reader | mutual pining | 0.9k words |

“Atsumu!” You call out his name, hitting your fist against the door. “Are you here?” 

It's a little late; the hallway is brightly lit, and you look up at the overhead lights, blinking and wondering if you shouldn’t have come here on such a whim. Thinking about it, you probably should have at least texted him you were coming — he might not even be here, but you were too much in a rush. 

Sighing, you raise your fist again, “Atsu-”

The door flies open and your hand cuts through air instead of the solid surface. Standing there in the doorway is Atsumu, clad in a pair of black sweatpants and a loosely fitting black t-shirt to match. He’s holding onto the handle with one hand, the other resting against the side of the frame, his pink lips stretching into a sly smile. Your stomach flips a little bit. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You wring your hands together, “Um.” 

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue and chuckling when you don’t. He opens the door wider. “C’mon,” he says, motioning his head inside his room. You stare at his back as you follow him in, taking in his broad shoulders and admiring the way his muscles ripple inside his shirt before closing your eyes and shaking your head. He’s not yours to look at. 

Focusing instead on the room, you take note of how both sides are equally as dysfunctional. Not messy, just…crowded. “Where’s Osamu?” 

He settles onto his bed, unmade, legs spread, and pushes his laptop to the side. “With Rin.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

You rock on your heels as your gaze slides all around the room, purposely avoiding his. “So…” 

“So?” He tilts his head in that cute way he always does when he finally catches your eye, smiling teasingly. “I’m not complainin’ about ya bein’ here, but you look like you have something ya wanna say.” 

He’s right. A wave of fervor pours over you, and you nod your head in determination to do what you came here for, pushing the creeping feeling of dejection far from your mind. “I need some answers.”

“Uh, huh.” His mouth twists in confusion. “Ta what, exactly?” 

“To how long it’s going to be.” Your legs take you around the small space, pacing back and forth as you clench and unclench your fists.

“Right…” He trails off. “I’m a little lost here, sweetheart.” 

You think you might melt with the affectionate name, but you brush over it. He’s just like that. “How long it’s going to be until you ask out this person you like so much.” 

He suddenly tenses, back straightening and thick eyebrows furrowing. “Oh.” Brown eyes track your movement. “I’m not, uh, sure I can answer that?” 

You shake your head. You think back to the conversation you guys had a few days ago, where he told you all about this person that he’s interested in. You remember him using words like so pretty, so amazing. A flush on his cheeks as he told you about why he likes them so much. Refusing to tell you who the person was, so maybe you could try to understand why it wasn’t you. 

But it’s exactly that, it’s not you. But it hurts every single time you think about it. 

So that’s why you ended up here, late at night, a fire in your heart. If the person Atsumu likes isn’t you, you could at least push him to go out with them. You wouldn’t be left to hopelessly pine over him, and could instead get over it as you watched him with someone else, even if it would kill you. Save yourself before you get too invested, right? 

“Why not? The sooner the better. Aren’t you the one who told me that we have to go for the things we want?” 

Atsumu pushes himself off the bed, long legs striding to you and big hands holding your arms to stop you from moving around. He looks very confused now. “I was?” 

You ignore him. “Well then, it’s time to do something.” You make sure to look right into his eyes. “If you like them so much, there’s only one thing to do.” 

The grip on your arms tighten, and you shift your hands up to hold on to his elbows. His eyes widen, and you watch as different emotions pass through his face before an excited grin grows. He studies you, “How long have ya felt this way?”

“Since you told me.” You try to match his smile, despite the way your chest sinks. “Be brave, Atsumu. I know you are.”

“Yeah.” he nods, eagerly, bleached hair following the jerks of his head. “Yeah, okay.” 

Your gaze drops to the floor. “Great…” Great. 

At least one of you guys will get to be with who they want to. You just wish he wanted you.

You try to leave his hold, but his hands just squeeze your arms, your name falling from his lips in a soft breath. 

He gives you that smile, not the confident volleyball player one, but the one that you catch him with when he’s petting a puppy, or when he’s talking to his mother on the phone and he thinks no one is looking. The one that’s reserved for soft moments, and your heart constricts. But it’s not prepared for what comes out of his mouth next. 

“Will ya go out with me?”

You n bakugo finally started dating bc during an argument, you hit him with the “you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid” and he turned around fuming, immediately crashing his lips into yours with a firm grasp on your cheeks

jazz is so good. have you guysheard of this shit theres tumpet