#kirishima has

[kaphyr]

The Long Defeat Ch31 + Teaser

Chapter Summary

“Individuals can resist injustice, but only a community can do justice.” — James J. Corbett

Eijirō tries to do the right thing; it doesn’t work out. He goes on a second date; it does work out.

Fic Link: The Long Defeat

[Updates every 2 weeks on Tuesday]

KRDK | An Excerpt 

Deku strips like no one is watching―which is to say, with no flirting. Mina would―no. Deku’s different.

It’s still hot―or at least cute. He looks back and catches Eijirō’s eyes on him and his face gets red. He smiles a little, biting his lower lip. He gets the lube and condoms and crawls over Eijirō, dropping the stuff somewhere by the pillows.

Eijirō pulls him down and they’re kissing again. Deku’s hand is on his dick, stroking it lightly―which is great because he’s using nothing but spit. Eijirō doesn’t know where to touch. He wants to grab his ass, but every time he put his hands there, Deku moans and Eijirō needs to put his cock in that hungry mouth.

“Want to feel you, Ei. Open me up?”

Eijirō groans and slicks up his fingers. He doesn’t know how much he should use exactly, with Mina―

He uses a lot.

Deku squirms and giggles as it drips on his back. “So cold, Ei,” he moans against Eijirō’s mouth.

Eijirō laughs but starts with a finger. Deku’s so warm inside. And soft and slippery. There’s no resistance like―like Eijirō expected. He still feels too tight for Eijirō to fuck, but he’s loose enough that Eijirō feels confident he can ask,

“Can I add another finger?”

Deku nods and takes his mouth again. Close like this, he smells like a fruit basket―warm and bright and sweet.

Eijirō pulls at one ass cheek and slowly, sinks in two fingers at a time. Deku’s hand stills and it’s like he melts, getting heavier above Eijirō.

“Still okay?”

Deku nods, mouth open a little, eyes clenched shut.

“Want it harder?”

Deku makes little grunts at the same pace as Eijirō’s fingers inside him.

“You look so hot like this… but―” he takes out his fingers and Deku opens his eyes, “―want it harder? Use your words, babe.”

Deku licks his lips. They look flushed and a little more plump. Like they had looked after sucking him off.

Eijirō circles his hole. “Or we can go slower?”

Deku whines. “No~! Want your fingers, please Ei. Put them inside, fingerfuck me hard, please. Wanna be ready for your―” He gasps, eyes shut.

Eijirō sinks his fingers as deep as they will go and pumps them faster.

“Faster, Ei, please, I’m good.”

He goes a little faster and it must be exactly what Deku wants because he groans into Eijirō’s mouth and fucks back against his fingers.

“Another, please.” Deku doesn’t wait for an answer, he kisses him again and lets go of Eijirō’s cock so he can grab at his other ass cheek and spread himself a little more.

Eijirō fits the third finger in and waits until Deku’s moving his hips before fucking him again.

Deku lifts off, cutting their lazy kiss short so he can fuck back a little harder. “Can I ride you? Please? I promise we can start slow.”

Eijirō winces at that. “Can you take another finger for me?”

Deku licks his lips and nods. It takes a few tries for them to find a good rhythm that keeps Eijirō’s fingers in Deku without hurting him or slipping out, but once they do, Deku’s moaning, eyes barely open.

“You okay?”

“So―much―” Deku shivers and his thighs clench around Eijirō. “Stop―stop―stop! Too good, don’t wanna―”

Eijirō pauses, four fingers still inside Deku. He trembles and reaches down and holds his cock at the base. It’s hard and leaking.

“Want me to suck you off?”

Deku groans. “Shut. Up. Trying not to come.” He takes a deep breath and then kneels, fully upright. “Please, can I have your cock, now? I don’t think I’ll last but―”

“I’ll last 5 minutes tops.” He fits a condom on his cock.

Deku giggles. “Okay, okay. We can do it again after or whatever.”

Eijirō smiles and Deku opens his eyes and looks down at him with this soft, giddy look Eijirō has… has never seen thrown his way. He takes Deku’s hand. “I… I like you a lot.”

“I like you a lot, too.” Deku laces their fingers together and then keeps them like that as he shifts to take his cock.

 As promised, Deku lowers himself slowly. Their hands are still clasped so Eijirō guides his cock in while Deku holds himself open. Achingly slow, Deku moves down, down, down his cock. His thighs don’t even tremble.

Eijirō wants to buck up so bad, but he keeps himself still and squeezes Deku’s hand. He’s so tight around his cock. And wet. And warm. Not like a pussy, but Eijirō likes it just as much. Likes the way Deku squeezes and clenches and twitches.

Fuck.  “Gonna cum,” Eijirō strangles out. “Look so―hot. Feel so good.”

Deku groans and picks up speed. “Gonna f-fuck me again?” His face is flushed and his eyes are hooded, relaxed.

“Yes―fuck―yes!” Eijirō reaches for Deku’s cock and strokes it just as fast as he’s bouncing on his cock.

He bites his lip to hold back a scream but keeps riding Eijirō, clenching and squeezing, dick shooting cum all over Eijirō’s stomach and face and still going, still bouncing.

Eijirō stops stroking and Deku moans.

Eijirō cums to that sound, hand at Deku’s hip to feel him keep that pace then take him deep and keep him there as he cums, twitching and groaning and finally coming down.

 Eijirō goes lax everywhere but his hand still laced with Deku’s. A hand petting Eijirō’s stomach, Deku stays seated on his dick.

“Feel good?” Eijirō asks.

“You’re splitting me open,” Deku slurs.

Eijirō snorts. “A good split?”

“So good I wish I could just keep―keep riding you.” He rolls his lower lip between his teeth.

Eijirō passes a hand over his thigh, watches the muscles there spasm when he goes near his flushed, half-hard cock. “Gonna keep me in there until I get hard again?”

Deku moans and his dick gives a half-hearted twitch. “Wanna keep you inside, but…” he shifts his legs and his face twitches with pain, “starting to hurt, sorry.”

“Nothing to feel bad about.”

Deku lifts off his cock and Eijirō gets to watch that gape struggle to close. He’s already got a blush going on; it makes his freckles look even darker. He smiles that small, shy smile of his and looks at Eijirō through his lashes. “Wanna see how open I am? How your big cock wrecked me?”

Fuck.

This excerpt was tweaked a bit. If you like it, you might like my Dekubowl fic The Long Defeat on AO3. Updates every other Tuesday <3

Fic Summary

After a decade of separation, Katsuki and Izuku meet. They are both heroes but on different sides where it matters.

Eijirō has a lot of figuring out to do. He’s got OFA and no clue how to honour this legacy and is even more confused about the feelings he’s having for a middle-ranking hero.

Shigaraki is lost in the wake of AFO’s defeat and frustrated with the League of Villains and its partners’ progress. He’s got destruction at his fingertips and he’s itching to use it.

Or: The way too political dekubowl no one asked for.

[olldolldraws]

there’s just something about krbk parenting

Bonus (ft. godfather/uncle deku and shouto):

[puppyaulait]

Flower shop x tattoo shop (and the little emo gang)

[ms0milk]

when you suddenly catch a nasty cold

gn!reader ft. todo, bkg, kiri, and (hearts in my eyes) shinsou

i am so ill and these are so silly, indulge me :,) 600ish words ea.

Todoroki starts to cry when you joke about dying.

He’s bought more flowers than can fit into your little apartment, picked up your prescriptions, tissues, juice, a heating pad, cleaned your kitchen, tucked you in– he paged the fucking family physician– but watching you shiver under a heavy duvet, surrounded by all the things that are supposed to help you get better, ignites a fear he didn’t know that he had. They aren’t working. You’re still sick because of course you are, and he can’t bring himself to move more than an arm’s length away from you because what if– if he leaves and–

“Shoto?”

“Yes,” his response is immediate when you pull him from the ether. Always is.

I’m not going anywhere,” you croak, too conscious of how strange your voice sounds, “so you don’t have to stay with me all day.”

“I don’t mind.”

Todoroki is a wonderful boyfriend but when was the last time he went to the bathroom?

“You must be bored.”

He leans over you from his spot at the side of your bed and runs a blessedly too-cold hand across your forehead. Bored? Like he could calm down enough for that. “I can’t relax when you’re like this.”

You’d roll your eyes if they ached less, at your beautiful boyfriend and his cluelessly shoujo declarations of love framed by no fewer than two whole flower shops worth of camellias. He turns his hand over to palm your cheeks and wipe the water from your puffy eyes.

“Would you like me to leave?”

You shake your head, smiling under the weight of an overkill of blankets and the heavy dip from his butt at the edge of your mattress. You’re inclined to reach a hand out to grab it, but you don’t have the energy to raise your head let alone fondle your boyfriend.

“There’s no one I’d rather be with in my final hours,” you rasp, joking, obviously joking.

This cold is something evil, chills, aches, snot– the works. But you couldn’t ask for a better nurse. A gentle, thoughtful, sexy, temperature controlled man, a man you would raze the city for, whose hand fits so perfectly in yours and who– whose trembling? You blink back up.

Todoroki’s features don’t shift or soften, his lip doesn’t quiver, but a tear does slip down his cheeks from those pool cool eyes– one after the next until his jaw is lined with them all patiently waiting to fall from his chin.

“Why, why why?” You panic and try to sit up but he comes to you. Todoroki cups your hand tightly in a hot and cold grip and bows over his own lap to rest his head in yours.

“You’re not going to die.”

“What?”

“I promise.”

“Sho, what– no of course I’m not. What’s wrong, baby?”

Your voice is so weak that he has no other choice than to sit back up and reach for the cold compress. He wipes his eyes with renewed determination when he turns back around, “I’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you, Sho. ’m not going anywhere, promise.”

And when the Todoroki family doctor lets himself in, he does consider coming back another time at the sight of you, finally comfortable under a mountain of fabric, and your love curled around you asleep on top of the blankets.

———

It’s not until you genuinely collapse that Bakugou realizes something is wrong. He didn’t even hit you that hard.

“You’re wide open today!” The restless pro looms across the arena, grinning. You both come to the agency’s underground ring on Saturdays to train and he’s blasted you clear across the room like he’s actually working for a paycheck.

There wasn’t any amount of money you would have accepted to get out of bed this morning but Bakugou, a less than casual hookup from work, accidentally spent the night and the surprisingly sleep soft rumble of his voice, the gentle kneed of palms as he pulled you back against his body under dawn light– was, persuasive.

The sooner we finish, the sooner I can go home and nurse this headache.

Headache. Naive self-convincing circles your head as you pull yourself to your feet like spinning stars from a goddamned cartoon. This is not a headache. Standing was fine a second ago, and the floor was fine a second ago, but the move from floor to feet fills your sinuses with sudden pressure and immediately the arena starts to swirl.

“C’mon twinkle toes, you’re– Y/n– shit–”

You’re not interested in where that sentence ends today and you blessedly don’t have to hear it because your ears have filled with cotton and you’re sinking back down to your knees. You’ve been congested like this before– it’ll pass in a minute or two, you know how it goes and you’re only embarrassed by the fact you were down so bad for your teammate this morning that you didn’t realize how your body had started to feel.

The vertigo eases somewhat when you rest your head on the ground, but Bakugou has cleared the empty room and already has his domineering hands all over you. “Y/n? Y/n– do not close your eyes.”

“‘m not concussed, Kats.” But you know the explosive hero’s first fear isn’t exactly a head trauma. “You didn’t hurt me,” you add.

“Doesn’t narrow it down shitforbrains,” the aggressive tone doesn’t match his anxious hold though, and you melt a little when he kneels and pulls you into his lap, “if I didn’t hurt you then what’s wrong?”

Bakugou definitely doesn’t like the way your head seems too heavy for your neck and tilts himself back just enough for you to lean it against his chest. You look so fucking uncomfortable, scowling, eyes pinched closed. “What hurts?” He rasps as he moves to feel your temperature but his palms are sweating hard from a few quirk ignitions so he stalls, and lowers his forehead to yours instead. You’re soft where he touches you, warm in his hands.

You just need to sit, you don't need the #2 hero to cradle you in his arms like a corpse on the battlefield. Your eyes squeeze shut harder as a tiny wave rocks you in the dark and then suddenly one ear releases. “Think I’m getting sick,” you breathe. Carmel in and relief out. “It’s my head–”

“Head hurts?”

“I’m just stuffed up, I–” the other ear releases, “— just dizzy.”

Bakugou sits on his heels, perched. Should he pick you up? It’s terrifying to watch– you, his teammate, a capable hero, suddenly unable to stand.

But as the pressure behind your eyes levels out you can lift your head without discomfort. You can bring your arms up around Bakugou’s shoulders and settle your fingers in his hair. Bring him back down from where he’s tried to pull away.

Your foreheads bump again, “I’m okay.”

He growls, “I don’t believe you.”

So the hero takes you home. He makes sure you’re horizontal and goddamned tucked in before he slips from your front door and scares the shit out of you an hour later with a vice grip on some grocery bags and your apartment keys slipped around his middle finger. It’s almost romantic, the way he snaps at you to hold still while he dabs antiseptic on your scratches from sparring, or glares venom from behind the stove when you hobble to the kitchen to see what smells so good.

———

When Kirishima lets himself in and you’re asleep on the kitchen floor, worry overrides his confusion.

You won’t pick up his calls, but he’s never missed a movie night and he’s not about to start today. He throws your front door open with his copy of your apartment key and kicks off his gym crocs as loudly as he can manage so you might hear him come in. The last thing he wants is to startle you.

But you’re the one who nearly kills him when he slips through the genkan, arms full of snacks and catches sight of your slippered foot stretched out on the ground around the corner.

He’s on his hands and knees faster than he can even take a full step, dropping bottles and soft melon bread from his arms as he scrambles to where you must be lying lifeless on the other side of the entrance.

“Y/n–! Ah, huh.”

And you are, in a way, lifeless on the ground, but you’re breathing. And smiling? Curled up on the white tiles in front of the sink cabinet.

“Y/n?” Kirishima doesn’t wait to ponder, instead placing a hand on the side of your head to check for concussion, wound, vertebral injury—But you coo, something completely unintelligible, and you’re much too warm. You tilt your face into his palm and every inch of you is hotter, damper than the next.

“Y/n? C’mon on back to me Y/n, gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

Maybe it’s the chill of the floor or the addition of his other hand cupping your cheek, but your lashes heft apart just enough to register who it is trying to resuscitate you in the kitchen.

“Ei?”

Kirishima, always handy in a fire, has every hospital route an EMT could ever need memorized from all his volunteer work with the fire department and mentally tracks each one as you try to form a sentence.

“shouldn’t be here, Eiji, m’sick.”

“What?”

“flu,” you murmur and pull your hands to your side to try and rise. Kirishima doesn’t register anything not directly related to whether or not you’re suffering from blunt force trauma– except for the fact he could recall the exact date and time your dream drowsy smile falls and perks back up again tonight for the next fifty years.

“–tried to text you,” you manage as the redhead helps you sit up. The sentence comes out in gasps instead of coughs as you try to spare the air of any extra germs, “I can’t watch the movie tonight."

He laughs with pent up anxiety and simultaneous relief– he’s taken that charming fireman’s knee at your side and you wish in your flu-addled state that you’d stayed unconscious long enough for him to hoist you into his arms. Instead, Kirishima places both of his big soft hands back around your face to brush away the dust and crumbs.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“got hungry,” you admit because you know it’ll make him smile, and with his face this close to yours you’ll be able to watch the skin around his eyes crinkle up too. “Then tired, little dizzy. I just needed to sit for a bit.”

His eyes do crinkle up. And his teeth bit at his lip like he’s trying not to be amused.

“Y/n, you are very sick. And very sweaty.” And the sweetheart, the biggest crush you’ve ever had, your closest friend, the man you dreamed of on the kitchen floor, asks if he can carry you to the bath.

———

Why are you breathing so hard? Shinsou is the only pro in the office that you can’t hide a fucking thing from. Maybe it’s because he works primarily in the underground– observant– that it’s obvious, the way you wobble on your feet when your eyes are closed too long, or the sudden effort it takes you just to climb the stairs.

How can he focus on paperwork with you trying to subtly catch your breath in every hallway? None of your sidekicks are brave enough to ask why you wore a mask to work today, but it’s summer and the air pollution gets bad enough that some of them have to too. Are they really all that stupid? Has he done the worst hiring job of any pro in the city?

“Shinsou,” you murmur across the now-empty end of day office and he whips around because god knows how many times you’ve tried to get his attention while he’s been off in space.

“Yeah boss?”

Your voice is rough with sick when you reply and it would be so fucking sexy if it didn’t remind him to be so anxious about your wellbeing. “I’ve told you not to call me that, haven’t been my sidekick for years,” and then you’re smiling even as you hold back a cough, “makes me feel old.”

“You are older than me.”

“By a year!” you sputter and then your lungs take over, heaving and hacking so hard you have to double over your desk to steady your forehead against something. Shinsou’s on his feet immediately, navigating the office in sweats and his capture gear.

What happened? This morning it was just a tickle at the top of your throat but the aches sank from your head, down your spine, and flooded through your body just as quickly as the sun’s shadow crawls across a stone. Which is to say, all day long and all too slowly to realize you probably should have called in sick.

“Here.” A cool hand materializes on the back of your neck and you roll your head to the side to check what exactly has arrived for you. With his free hand Shinsou presses a paper water cup forward, which you’d love to take if you had the energy to pull your mask down.

“went to school together n’ everything,” you breathe.

“Boss, you should go home for the night, I’ll– I can finish this paperwork.”

By now the dark-eyed hero has sunk slowly into a crouch beside your chair and keeps a careful hand on your back to ensure you don’t slip to the floor sideways one way or the other. Thank god he sent the rookies home because stupid or otherwise, you'd have to be braindead not to notice this adoration that he can’t seem to get a handle on.

“Shinsou,” you murmur again, just as sexily as last time and he feels just as much if not more shame at how lovely it is to hear you call to him sweet and low, “I can’t get up.”

“What?”

That’s it though. There’s no trick or test. Shinsou has a fucked up sleep schedule from all his overnight patrols so he always stays in the office late, but you? You’ve been trying to rally for the last two hours and now you’ve used all your energy teasing a man whose eyes go bright every time you say his name. It serves you right, collapsing at your desk after using the last of your strength to squeeze as many Shinsous as you could into an evening.

“call me a taxi?”

He rises to his feet, “Will you even be able to get up your front steps?”

“sure hope so.”

“Do you feel nauseous?” He’s shuffling around the room now, plucking keys from hooks, and you watch him sideways with your head still resting in the day’s paperwork. “You gonna aspirate if I let you go home alone?”

“if god’s feeling extra silly”

He scoffs to hide the smile. Shinsou returns to your side to lay his faded denim jacket over your shoulders and then crouches again at eye level.

“Y/n,” he urges, and rests a hand to the back of your head to get your attention, “If I carry you downstairs, will you be able to hold onto me?”

Downstairs is a bluff. With you snug and mostly unconscious between his jacket and his back, Shinsou carries you home. Face full of your clothes, hair, quirk, whatever’s getting in his eyes, under the stars, and down back streets to avoid any publicity, the hero tries to walk gently enough that you don’t whimper from the impact of his steps.

“Thank you Toshi,” you whisper just when he thinks you’ve finally fallen asleep and the big bad underground pro almost stumbles hard enough to fly.

[treef-greef]

[1-800-cybersaint]

kirishima is a nice, sweet guy. always holding your hand with blushy cheeks and a nervous smile, opening doors for you, asking about your day and actually listening. never so much as raises his voice at you and does his best to keep his weight off you on the few occasions he sleeps over. a gentleman through and through.

so he feels a bit like a sick fuck the first time he's trying to stuff into your cunt. the furrow of your eyebrows and your open mouth, making little pained noises as the head of his cock nudges past your entrance has him feral. you look so small beneath him, with your knees to your chest. breakable.

he's never even thought about wanting to hurt you before, but the idea of tears filling your big, pretty eyes as he bullies his way into your pussy turns him into a different beast entirely.

[theloveinc]

i feel like daddy eijirou needs a homebody daughter.. a daughter with no hoes if you will.. whos favorite activity is imagining fantasy scenarios while listening to music..

who’s friends are as simple and innocent as her.. conversations always light and fluffy.. boy band this.. cartoons that..

he’s all the happier for it..

ive always felt that out of all the daddies, kiri would be the least fearful about fucking reader.. not sure why, but that big ol man would have his girl bred and conked out 25/6..

And all his other daddy friends are so jealous of him!!! There's Kats with his precious gem of a daughter (who's sweet and loved beyond words but doesn't yet know true satisfaction, much to bakugo's painful restraint), and then there's Deku's little girl, a little minx of a thing (who can never seem to be wrangled this way or that, deku only just manages to get a grip on things before she's off disobeying again, and he's always been so hesitant to be rough with her)...

But Kiri's got his perfect angel, who he never needs to worry about, only ever reward with kisses and treats and cock for being such a dear little daughter-wife... you don't even like toys, that's how suited you are for him, anything other than his dick and thick fingers and tongue makes you weep to take because it's just. not. him !!!

It's so funny when the girls come over for a play date of sorts, giggling with you in your princess pink room with soft pillows and on top of silk sheets, and Kiri's in the kitchen giving his boys a beer, listening to them lament about the struggles of fatherhood... only to have nothing to say when it's his turn to complain.

'cos while Bakugo's going on and on about his rock hard blue balls and Deku's weeping cuz he accidentally spanked someone's ass raw... the only thing Kiri's got is about how you passed out last night two orgasm earlier than usual, and that's probably only because you helped Kiri make dinner and clean up after (even tho you woke up early to take care of his morningwood, not that that's all that unusual)... 🥺🥺🥺)

They ask him how he manages to keep such a good girl and he's honestly not sure what to say. Maybe it's because he spoils you rotten, maybe he's just lucky or something?

[tekitothemagpie]

Kirishima : why are Bakugo and Midoriya sitting with their backs to each other?

Todoroki : they had a fight

Kirishima : then why are they holding hands?

Todoroki : they get sad when they fight

[snarkyship]

The Bakusquad is well equipped

[nottspocket]

Been having a rough go of it, so I drew transmasc Kiri to fix myself (plus kirimina because I do what I want). I hope you had a happy pride!

[willowser]

ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴀʟʟ ғᴏᴜʀs. werewolf kiri au.

you wake up under a mountain of furs.

light comes flickering from the hearth and, warm and welcoming as it is—you've no idea where you are.

you don't recognize the inside of the cabin; it's certainly not yours, nor is its layout that of any you’ve seen in the village. it's rather plain, with a singular window and table and chair and small fireplace, empty enough that you wonder how anyone could live comfortably with so little.

outside, the winter storm rages on, and there's a howl that cuts through the air that strikes bone-deep.

all at once your memories come back to you: dragged through town with bound hands and ankles, in only a thin night dress, screaming with all your might as the physician that delivered you into this world tied you to an old pine, along with the priest and the man that sold you blueberries in the spring.

people you knew and loved. had trusted.

the memories become hazy after a while, darkening with the night that crept in. you remember your body losing its feeling, but not its fear. you remember the violence of the storm, breaking trees and branches and uprooting the forest floor. you remember the horrible and hulking shape of something rising in the moonlight.

the door shoves open then, with enough force to send you scurrying back into the corner of the room. the blizzard tries to rush inside, but a man stands in its way, leaning back against the wood to keep the wind and snow out where it belongs. he's—big, as tall as the frame and just as wide, with thick hair that he's tied back, messy and low.

he's rosy in his cheeks and on the tip of his nose, as bright as the eyes that snap to you the moment you dare to breathe.

he doesn't say anything, at first. the bag of firewood he sets at his feet settles as he turns to you in interest, eyebrows raised. the clothes he's wearing look—old and worn, certainly not suitable for the storm roaring outside, with the holes and tears in the fabric. the boots he has on, however, seem heavy, have his steps echoing when he moves further into the room.

you pull your knees up to your chest and try to shrink away; beneath your thin dress, your skin has pebbled up, reminding you of just how vulnerable you still are.

your fear translates; the man stops on the other side of the little table, breathing in deeply before raising his hands up in what reads as surrender.

"hello," he finally says, and when you don't respond, he places a thick hand to his dark-haired chest and introduces himself as, "eijirou."

he nods emphatically and then repeats himself, as if to reinforce the name. you only grant him a small nod in return—and he smiles. it's wide, stretching across his face, and friendly, authentic enough that you question whether you're as damned as you thought, or perhaps saved.

how did you even get here? the question finally thaws out from the recesses of your brain and you take another look around the room as if the answer lies between the wood or nestled into the furs. this place looks too hand-crafted, you realize, all of it—and the man before you looks like he could move mountains, if he wanted to.

the chains that had bound you were iron-strong and didn't once budge in all your thrashing, before things went dark—but now you are inside by a well-maintained fire, warm and free, and all that remains of your ill fate are the indentions worn into your wrists.

he's still staring at you, the man. eijirou. he's not moved any closer, either, and when you meet his curious gaze, his lips twist and his eyes narrow. a thoughtful noise comes out of his mouth, like he's thinking of what to say or how to say it, and you're reminded that you don't recognize where you are, nor do you recognize him in the slightest.

big as he is, you don't think he could have carried you too far in a snowstorm such as the one still raging outside; are you still somewhere deep in the forest? in a cabin at the heart of the wood? saved by a man that somehow survives with so little out in the middle of nowhere?

"eijirou," you test the name on your lips and he perks up at the sound, attention snapping back to you instantly. you don't know if it's winter seeping through the floor, or if it's in the way that he watches you, that makes you shiver.

finally, he asks, "cold?" and when you nod, he slowly makes his way over to you, carefully, as if approaching a deer ready to run.

—and then he sheds his shirt with a quick shrug and holds it out to you.

you should want to look away, for decency sake, but you're—stunned by it, by him. there's a litany of scars that paint him in odd and worrisome places, but he stands tall and strong before you, unbothered by his own state. unbothered by the eyes that run over the expanse of his bare shoulders, the dark, thick trail of hair running down from his belly button, the ripples of muscle his loose shirt did well to hide.

you take it from him carefully and it's so warm, almost hot, that you press it to your face immediately to chase away the chatter of your jaw. the material itself, however ragged, is big enough to drape over your curled form like a blanket, and so you do just that. it carries the earthy smell of the woods, deeply woven into the fabric; pine and musk and something smoky.

with your cheek still pressed to his shirt, you look up to thank him, at last, but the words still in your throat at the minute changes of his face: still smiling, though sharper now, somehow, and his eyes are still wide with that keen, rapt interest—but the crimson to them has set like the sun and they've grown just as dark as the night outside.

[jekacatrina]

When people ask why I write the way Kaminari, Sero and Kirishima feel about Bakugou like I do in every one of my fics, I'm just going to show you this frame:

Because they love him, THAT’S why!

[onyxart67]

Here’s your food take it or leave it

[numberoneredriotfan]

It's funny to me how kiribaku is always portrayed as Kirishima being lucky to have Bakugou. Cause to me, it's a damn miracle that crusty, sweaty, gremlin ass (affectionate) Bakugou Katsuki was able to bag Kirishima Eijiro, the most beautiful man on earth.

(This is a joke pls don't hurt me Bakugou's pretty too-)

[seiwas]

i think kirishima comes home from the barber’s one day with the ugliest haircut you’ve ever seen on him ☹️ and he’s bouncing around sooooo happy with it, you just don’t have the heart to tell him it’s terrible ☹️🥲

he refused to show you any of his pegs, 100% positive you would love it. bless him because all he really wanted was to surprise you 🥺, hyping it up the weeks leading to the day, too—

“it’s gonna look so good, baby, can’t wait for you to see it,” he kisses you, right as he’s about to head off for his appointment.

you didn’t know it then, eyes sparkling and absolutely smitten as you reply, “looking forward to it.”

so now, as he turns around in front of you, arms open wide as if showing off the pièce de résistance; the absolute cherry on top, he asks, “what do you think? d’you like it?”

and you give it a good look, raising your eyebrows in an effort to look pleasantly surprised (but truthfully just shocked). you can feel the corners of your lips twitching, muscles turning nervous at giving away how you really feel about it.

you take a deep breath and blink, stepping closer to him as you reach up to run your fingers up the nape of his neck and through the strands of his freshly styled hair.

he waits, anticipatory.

two truths sink in at this very moment:

1) it’s just hair. it’ll grow back.

2) you must love him. a whole lot actually, because—

“i love it, it brings out your smile,” you look into his eyes, catching how he beams at you. a sparkling red.

you’ll find a way to let him know about it eventually.

[berryblu-arts]

@hollsmemes HIII HELLO!!!! WAVING BACK AT YOU o/!!!

sdfhsgdahg sorry to drag your ask onto another blog but!!! i have brought you doodles!!

closeups:

Kai´s first dentist appointment + hc he is a menace to pens (that guy is *not* sitting still through team meetings fdhkjhdsjfnmghf) + i just wanted to draw this one tbh

also v important RGB sibs hc doodle (i draw mouths too small to showcase fangs U_U)