As much as you love Bakugou, he can sometimes do or say little things that upset you more than he would think. Most of the times it’s not even meant to be directed to you, other times he’s upset within other factors, and you just so happen to be in the crossfire.
He says something to you before you guys are headed out to go to Denki’s pool party. It was snippy and a little rude, and it’s enough to make you huff and become silent for the remaining time in the house. He tries to ask you little questions on the car ride over to Denki’s, but you either one-word him, or just make a noise in acknowledgment. You let him hold your bare thigh, surprisingly, but he knows it’s only because you don’t feel like speaking to him to ask him to remove it.
But when you get there, you practically haul ass it to the pool, stopped abruptly by a big hand encircling your wrist. Bakugou pulls you back to where he sits on one of the beach chairs, looks at you from over his black tinted glasses with a frown,
“Oi, did you put on any sunscreen before we left?” He asks, eyes you up and down, tries not to ogle at the bathing suit you didn’t let him admire much before putting your bathing suit slip on in the house. You frown at him and answer quickly,
“Yea, ‘course I did.” But he can tell that you’re either lying or don’t remember by the way your brows furrowed and your eyes slightly wandered off in thought. He only huffs and tugs you a little harder until you’re forced to sit in front of him, legs splayed on either side of the chair as you place your hands down in between your bodies.
“No ya didn’t.” Bakugou grunts, before digging into your packed beach bag and pulls out the sunscreen. You don’t fight him on this either, just stick your arms out for him, move your hair when he lathers up your neck. He grabs your ankles in his hands and slathers your legs in the sunscreen, and as you watch him and his intense focus, you can’t help but love how gentle he is with you. How rough and powerful palms glide across your legs, how thick fingers knead the sunscreen into your thighs and the sole of your foot, even if you don’t need it there.
He tells you to turn around, and you do. You can hear him squirting more into his hands, looking around bashfully at how your friends all smile at the two of you, lovingly jealous at how he dotes over you. You have to bite back a smile when he finishes, and places a soft kiss on both of your shoulder blades, your nape, behind your ear.
When you stand, you go to tell him thank you, but he pulls you down once more. Warm palms encase your cheeks, and he’s slathering your face down in sunscreen next. He twists your cheeks this way and that, just to hear you grumble, which makes him chuckle under his breath. He brushes his thumbs across your brows, smooths his fingertips across your forehead, pats at your chin and the creases of your nose, before he calls that he’s finished.
He pecks at your lips once, twice, and you allow him, even kissing him back for one or two of the kisses. He pushes his glasses up into his hair, his shiny forehead that’s tinted white from the sunscreen damn near blinding you.
“Sorry I was being a dickhead to you. You didn’t deserve it.” Bakugou grumbles, blinks at you with those stupidly pretty eyes that show how sincere he is. You stare down at him for a while before you hum, leaning forward to capture his lips in one last kiss.
“Be mean to me again and I’ll bite your arm off.” You whisper against him with a smile, listening to his surprised laughter bubbling from out of him. He knocks his forehead against your own, grinning, and promises that he’ll bite off the other arm too, just to save you the trouble.
1K notes
·
View notes
in regard to the icemav convo about american made cars: I think it would be funny if after mav gets his regular license, ice buys him a truck that they can use for transporting stuff to the hangar and when he gifts it to mav all the man can do is laugh bc stamped across the ass is MAVERICK. It’s a 2023 ford maverick (in area 51 bc I’m partial to that color)
and mav likes it, but he doesn’t love driving it bc it’s so big (and he just likes being a passenger princess too much), so ice drives it mostly which inspires a whole lot of jokes about ice liking having maverick’s name stamped on his ass. bradley gags from the other room every time.
if it matters to u, i agree with this hc 150% on rhetoric grounds. thank god for your mind.
however i would like to raise the issue that recent american pickup trucks have become non-useful, overexpensive, and suburban-coded in a way i think ice and mav would reject. the ford maverick was built with the intention of dropping kindergarteners off at school, not of actually doing hard labor. see below infographic for what I mean.
It’s a fucking travesty. Trucks are so ugly and useless now. the maverick is not immune to this. (maverick below)
what good is having a fucking truck if it can’t even hold two REGULAR ASS BIKES in the bed. & when the bed is empty the chassis is unbalanced in a way that leads to more accidents etc. (tbf that was true in the 70s/80s too but im feeling more hateful towards modern trucks rn). In short—the modern American pickup truck is no longer useful, it’s a way to virtue signal to other Americans that you *think * you know what hard labor is, even when you’re driving around in a glorified odyssey with a teeny tiny bed that can barely hold a couple bags of mulch for the back garden
ice & mav don’t even have any little kids anymore, i think they’d consider a backseat useless & a waste of space
SO i would like to offer you a Compromise, which is that ice & mav buy either (or both) a 1974 ford maverick AND/OR a 1990 ford maverick
for the Funny Name & coolness factor (& the “making Bradley vom cause of how cute his parents are” factor), and then soup up, like, a 1984 Chevy C10 for actual towing/hauling purposes.
123 notes
·
View notes