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kirishima is always bakugous personal space.
they are getting ready for a spar in the locker rooms, when it happens.
[a thread: the first time bakugou refuses to spar with kirishima]
they are getting ready for a spar in the locker rooms, when it happens.
[a thread: the first time bakugou refuses to spar with kirishima]
here is where it happens. kirishima is leaning into bakugou.
there’s kaminari and sero round the corner, on the other side of the locker doors. they’re talking, arguing about something, and it’s all muffled out, it’s all underwater, as if spoken through layers of plastic.
there’s kaminari and sero round the corner, on the other side of the locker doors. they’re talking, arguing about something, and it’s all muffled out, it’s all underwater, as if spoken through layers of plastic.
everything is drowned out, bleached and white except for this: except for how kirishima is leaning towards him, his eyes so, so careful.
kirishima’s lips are parted, and his brows are tilted in a way that is so 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, a look bakugou has seen before as he leans over his biology notes. and now that bakugou is the subject of this careful gaze, some part of him trills.
a buzz starts in his chest and spreads out in his body, tingles in these soft pinpricks that buzz on his lips.
and bakugou. bakugou is glowing.
he is 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 in the face, his skin raised to fever heat as kirishima plants a hand on the locker door next to him.
and bakugou. bakugou is glowing.
he is 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 in the face, his skin raised to fever heat as kirishima plants a hand on the locker door next to him.
he thinks he is painted red all over, with the way his ears feel so warm, how he is full of bursting, bursting 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 all over.
he is begging to be touched, his shoulders are tensed and his neck is hot, his eyes are wide and his brows are for once not pushed together in a scowl: they are eased out, and he licks his lips, tastes salt.
he breathes kirishima in: he smells the earth, like dirt and almonds. he smells clean, too, like the shower jell he has used. bakugou imagines how the water must have run down him, cascading down his back, soap suds collecting in the shells of his ears, foam bubbles pooling +
around his feet. how he imagines kirishima, bare and all flesh, dimples and rippling tendons, back muscles like lean and tender chords, soothing out under hot water.
and 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 kirishima in front of him seems to notice that he is lost, and he pushes closer to him, but only just so.
bakugou’s stomach twists and twists and twists as kirishima inches just one centimetre closer, how when he blinks, he closes his eyes for a moment longer.
bakugou’s stomach twists and twists and twists as kirishima inches just one centimetre closer, how when he blinks, he closes his eyes for a moment longer.
red, damp hair curtains bakugou’s sight. it hangs in slight curls, knotted and wet. bakugou breathes in the soap, the shampoo.
kaminari and sero grow a fraction louder—they are blabering on about pineapple and pizza, something fucking mundane and stupid, and—
kaminari and sero grow a fraction louder—they are blabering on about pineapple and pizza, something fucking mundane and stupid, and—
“i’m here,” kirishima says, and he is frowning. 𝘪’𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, he says, as if to imply 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦? as if he is entitled to bakugou’s undivided focus, as if there is nowhere else bakugou should be except here.
as if all he must do right now is stand here, staring up at his best friend's lips—as if kirishima 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 bakugou’s attention.
as if it is obvious, to him. as if leaning this close is normal, imporant even.
as if it is obvious, to him. as if leaning this close is normal, imporant even.
bakugou forgets how he has ever breathed before this. was he always breathing this deep, did his chest always rise and fall this way, did his entire body throb and clench up as it does now?
kaminari and sero grow louder, and there is the shuffle of footsteps.
kaminari and sero grow louder, and there is the shuffle of footsteps.
kirishima doesnt seem care.
he has other plans. he brings his hand to the curve of bakugou’s cheek and this—this 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 of contact, this small ghost of his palms has bakugou undone. the locker room is whiring, sero and kaminari are far far away and every thing is blurred except for kirishima—
except for his dark red eyes, except for his careful look, except for how his small fucking eyebrows are pushed together, meeting in a concerned dip at the centre of his forehead.
bakugou is 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵, undone, and he reflexively pushes into kirishima’s hand, body chasing warmth.
bakugou is 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵, undone, and he reflexively pushes into kirishima’s hand, body chasing warmth.
and then. there’s this tug at kirishima’s lips, the lines of a smile—𝘯𝘰, 𝘯𝘰, bakugou narrows his eyes: 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘥. and before he can bare his teeth, before he can shove this shitty haired idiot away—
kirishima’s thumb finds the corner of bakugou’s lips.
and all thoughts fry up in his brain, fly out the window.
kirishima traces the line of his lips, the curve of his cupids bow, the roundness of his lip volume.
and all thoughts fry up in his brain, fly out the window.
kirishima traces the line of his lips, the curve of his cupids bow, the roundness of his lip volume.
it tingles, like electricity. a slow prickle as kirishima brushes his lips with this thumb, worries over this one dry peel of skin at one corner, brushes over it once, twice.
bakugou can not breathe.
bakugou can not breathe.
and if this is electricity, this conduction, this potential difference is something only kirishima eijirou can introduce for bakugou.
and then—
and then—
and then kaminari and sero are stepping out onto this side of the lockers.
kirishima steps away from bakugou.
kirishima steps away from bakugou.
his voice is no longer a whisper, his breath is no longer lingering with bakugou’s, his eyes are no longer a dark merlot, no longer hooded and brimming: now he is casual, smiling, beaming. “so are we sparing today?”
"NO," bakugou spits, and his voice is way too loud, way too fucking loud, his voice cracks and his eyes are blown wide.
sero raises an eyebrow and kaminari turns to look at him. kirishima and bakugou spar together everytime.
sero raises an eyebrow and kaminari turns to look at him. kirishima and bakugou spar together everytime.
before kaminari can open his mouth to pass a snide remark, before he can catch a glimpse of kirishima's expression, he is stalking out the room in wide steps, the twin orange head pieces are all that is left to see for them.
bakugou's face is painted red, ears warm, neck ablaze, 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. his skin is glowing.
end. i just miss the good old days at ua without the war and the league of villains, and i mean i know horikoshi has a plot to push forward, but whatever happened to relentlessly pining in shared locker rooms man
