#asksunarmed

46. …out of envy or jealousy. 

There was a part of Bakugou that understood he was being ridiculous. That knew Kirishima was a stupidly oblivious extrovert and didn’t mean anything by it. But a much larger part of him was going to throw Deku out the damn window the next time he made his boyfriend laugh.

The two were hunched over one of the hero analysis notebooks. Deku was gesturing wildly and Kirishima smiled and nodded along with his rambling. It happened a lot. Deku’s consultations were helpful if you were too dumb to figure out your own quirk, so most of his classmates had asked him for advice. It was nothing.

But still.

Bakugou grumbled and got up from where he had been happily situated on the common room couch. “Fucking moron,” he muttered, and skulked over to the two of them. He slung his left arm over Kirishima’s shoulder and grabbed his chin with his right. He turned Kirishima to face him and pressed their lips together, easily slipping his tongue into Kirishima’s mouth. His boyfriend hummed in surprise, but didn’t pull away. He even nipped at Bakugou’s lip as the two parted, a clear sign he was enjoying himself.

“What was that for?” Kirishima asked. It wasn’t accusatory, merely curious. He was smiling again, brighter than he had before, Bakugou noted with pride. Take that, Deku.

“You’re the one who asked me to touch you more in public,” he huffed, “Idiot.”

Kirishima grinned wider, and it felt like winning.

Deku had meanwhile turned bright red, and could barely stammer out a sentence. His eyes remained firmly locked to the notebook, never even nearing Bakugou and Kirishima’s faces. 

That was much better.

39. …because time’s run out.

“Good morning Gwen!” An all too cheery voice roused her from her dreams, and she groaned into her pillow.

“David, if it is any time before 6 am, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“It’s 7:50, actually.”

Gwen sat up so quickly, she nearly fell out of bed.

“What the fuck?” she shouted. What the hell happened to her alarm? She scrambled out of her bed, nearly falling to her drawer of clothing. “Shit, we need to get the kids–”

“They’re already eating breakfast,” David assured her. She stopped, leg midway through her shorts.

“Huh?”

“You slept through your alarm, so I thought I’d get all the kids ready on my own this morning.” He placed his hands on his hips and smiled.

“You faced those little gremlins alone... for me?” She breathed. Something dangerously close to love blossomed in her chest.

“Of course!” He cried, “And it wasn’t too bad. I only got bit twice!” He looked down, and she caught a light pink lighting his cheeks. “I could have let you sleep later, but I...”

“You wanted a kiss before we have to deal with whatever disaster today holds?” Gwen finished. She knew from experience that David would never get it out on his own. He nodded, and the blush grew. “Well then, get over here, asshole,” she ordered, though she didn’t manage to keep the smile off her face. He strode over to her eagerly (like he does everything) and swept her up in arms. Their lips met, and she grabbed his stupid bandanna and pulled him onto the bed with her. QM could probably keep the kids alive for another fifteen minutes at least.

49. …out of necessity.

Jeremy fucking hated undercover missions.

First of all, he wasn’t good at them. Jeremy was much more of a kill everyone in sight and blow up the building kind of guy, not a cocktails and small talk kind of guy. Second of all, they were boring. If Jeremy had to hear about this man cheating on his wife or the prime minister of Thailand running off to Russia one more time he was gonna pull his beard out. And finally, the absolutely worst part of undercover missions was the fact he had to do them with the only other member of the crew who wasn’t immediately recognizable out of their gear: Ryan.

And Jeremy have would told him that to his face if he hadn’t disappeared and gone radio silent.

“You better not be dead,” Jeremy murmured around his champagne flute. He hadn’t been expecting to get an answer and nearly spat out a $300 sip when he did.

“Perfectly fine!” Ryan whispered to him. The answer was chipper, but breathy, as though he had been running. “Going to need you to meet me in the first floor sitting room though!”

“Copy,” Jeremy answered, and walked over there as deliberately as he dared. For the first time in all his heists, he was thankful Matt had locked him in the planning room until he had the blueprints memorized. 

He entered the sitting room just in time apparently, as Ryan showed up not a moment later.

“Need your help!” he said and dashed towards him.

“What do you–”

And Ryan was kissing him.

What the fuck?

Ryan was kissing him, dry lips slotted against his own, arms wrapped around the small of his back both as a support and to keep him from moving away.

(And Jeremy maybe liked it.)

There were muffled noises outside the door before it burst open.

“Is he– oh!” A security guard, gun now hanging limp in his hand, stood sheepishly in the doorway. He was blushing firetruck red, but Jeremy wasn’t really in a position to judge him on that one. He was pretty sure he didn’t look much better.

“Can I help you?” Ryan asked in his best Georgia drawl. He didn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest, merely annoyed. He would have fit in perfectly with any of the rich fucks back in the ballroom.

“Apologies,” the guard stuttered, and swiftly shut the door. Ryan nearly slumped over in relief, finally releasing Jeremy as he did.

“Thank god.”

“Was that the guy chasing you?” Jeremy asked, raising an eyebrow and trying to pretend he was fine.

“One of them,” Ryan replied. His smirk was cheeky as ever, as if those lips hadn’t just been somewhere completely new. “Luckily, social awkwardness is a great distraction.” He pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket and wiggled it between his fingers. “I got the files we needed. Let’s go before he remembers me!”

And he was gone. Jeremy, on the other hand, touched his hands to his lips, taking a couple precious seconds to register the fact that Ryan had just fucking kissed him, before shoving that whole mess to the back of his brain and preparing to get the fuck out.

11. …in joy.

“And then, in the Silver Age, David Shield designed the costume to be a bit bolder than before. A lot of people theorize that the red was meant to symbolize–”

“Wait, stop,” Todoroki interjected, and looked down at his phone. Midoriya took a deep breath, for the first time in too long, and looked at the clock in horror. He had been talking about hero costumes for well over forty-five minutes. He could feel blood rushing to his face, and further down, somewhere he tried to keep hidden, hurt bloomed. He ignored it though. Todoroki had a point.

“Oh. Right,” he muttered. “Sorry, I’ve been talking for awhile, I didn’t mean–”

“No, it’s not that,” Todoroki assured him, though his voice was distracted. He was furiously typing on his phone. “I didn’t get to watch much of the Silver Age, that was when my father started turning off All Might’s news stories. I want to look it up, to make sure I know what you’re talking about.”

Midoriya felt light headed, like the world was turning on its head.

“You... You cared?”

At this Todoroki looked up, surprise and confusion mixed on his face in a frown.

“Of course?” He asked, like he couldn’t imagine the answer being anything else.

And Midoriya kissed him.

It wasn’t a good kiss. Todoroki hadn’t been expecting it, so their noses pressed awkwardly against each other, and Midoriya is pretty sure he heard a phone hit the floor, but he didn’t care.

It had been a long time since he’d felt so happy, and so loved.

3. …goodbye.

Taako was waiting for him in the kitchen. The battle of Story and Song had ended merely hours ago. Most of their friends were still on the surface, helping to clean up the wreckage left by the Hunger’s assault. Lucretia had watched them go. She had opened her lips, maybe in apology? He wasn’t sure. Whatever the reason, she didn’t say. She merely turned around and let them go.

Magnus didn’t know what to say. For a moment, he just stood there in the doorframe and let Taako bustle about the kitchen. There was only the clinking of utensils and a bubbling anticipation.

When it became clear Taako wasn’t going to say anything, Magnus cleared his throat. Taako didn’t look up at him. So he tried again.

“You remember too,” he said, and it wasn’t a question, but gave time for Taako to answer anyways.

“You betcha,” Taako replied. Part of Magnus longed to go over to him, wrap his arms around Taako’s waist and hold him until his hands stopped shaking. It was confusing, sorting through memories that felt like both yesterday and years ago. They hadn’t been together, not in this life… Yet Magnus remembered waking up and kissing his forehead just this morning, a “this morning” that happened years ago.

The dissonance made his head hurt.

“Look Big Guy,” Taako sighed, “I know we were together but I–”

“I don’t want to get back together,” Magnus interjected, and Taako whirled around so quickly, batter splattered across the floor.

“You don’t?”

“No,” Magnus repeated, meaning every word. “I… I’m still not over Julia,” he admitted, “and… I don’t feel that way about you, this time. You’re like my brother! It’d be… weird.”

It already was weird, but Magnus didn’t feel like he had to say that.

Taako’s shoulders dropped, and Magnus could see the tension physically leave his shoulders.

“Oh thank Istus,” he breathed, “Cuz Kravitz and I totally made out during that battle and that would have been super awkward.” Magnus laughed.

“You’ll have to tell me about it later,” he chuckled. “We good?”

“We good.”

Magnus nodded, and went to leave. He wanted to get back down to the surface, and he was pretty sure Taako wanted to be alone.

“Wait!”

Magnus turned, and for a moment, he saw an echo of vulnerability on Taako’s—wide eyes, teeth snagging his lip—before he melted into a cocky smile.

“If you’re breaking up with me, don’t I get a good-bye kiss?”

Magnus huffed, and smiled back, and tried to pretend his heart didn’t ache. He strode forward, and gently cupped Taako’s cheek. Their lips slotted together easily, as they had a hundred, a thousand, a million times before. Magnus felt a tear trail down his face, but he wasn’t sure whose it was. He pulled away.

“Good-bye Taako,” he whispered.

And he left.

47. ...out of spite

Kirishima didn’t get mad at Bakugou often. Even before they had started dating, it never really happened. He got annoyed, sure. Bakugou was an asshole. Kirishima knew this, probably better than most at this point. But he also knew that there was a person past the asshole Bakugou portrayed. And so Kirishima had learned to translate the insults and jabs into what Bakugou really meant. It came to him easy as breathing.

That didn’t necessarily mean Bakugou never got under his skin.

It was the end of the day and they were sparring. Kirishima had been burning the wicks at both ends between school and his internship with Fatgum. Every one of his limbs burned from training and patrols, and his head spun with the facts and figures of the upcoming raid. He knew his heart wasn’t in it today.

Which would have been fine if Bakugou didn’t take it like a personal insult.

“Is this the best you can do, hair-for-brains?” He shouted. An explosion rocketed from his palm and Kirishima barely rolled out of the way. He grimaced. Bakugou was kicking his ass, and it was embarrassing. Even though Bakugou won more often than not, Kirishima could usually at least hold his own. He hadn’t managed to get one good hit in the whole time, constantly stuck on the defensive. It was frustrating, to the point that Kirishima could feel angry tears welling in his eyes.

Bakugou’s words weren’t helping.

“You should be better than this! Give me your all!” He fired an explosion at Kirishima’s feet, to make him stumbled, then blasted him into the back wall. “You wanna honor Crimson Riot, then do it!” Another explosion, this time right at his face. Kirishima dropped to his knees, but felt the heat surge through his hair. “Prove you belong here or stop wasting everyone’s time!”

Later, Kirishima would feel bad. He hadn’t told Bakugou about his middle school days, about the insecurities that plagued him. He hadn’t told Bakugou why he dyed his hair and spiked it the way he did. And he most certainly hadn’t told Bakugou about the case he was currently working on, and how all his flaws felt amplified under the weight each mistake he made.

Bakugou hadn’t known, and without context, none of what he was saying was any worse than his normal vitriol.

But in the moment, Kirishima felt exactly like the sad boy with black hair he had sworn would never again define him, and he wanted it to stop.

Suddenly, he was certain he could win, albeit, if he played a little dirty.

He charged Bakugou, pushing off the wall to give himself momentum. For a moment, Bakugou was surprised, and his hands faltered, before he remembered himself and detonated two explosions, one glancing Kirishima’s shoulder and the other slamming into his gut. Kirishima pushed through. He had to get close enough.

Bakugou seemed to realize what Kirishima was going for. He grinned, and braced himself for hand to hand, palms sparking in anticipation. His mouth erupted in a grin so feral, Kirishima was ready for him to sprout fangs. “Finally figured out you don’t stand a chance from far away?” Bakugou taunted and Kirishima growled.

“Shut up!” he grunted, and grabbed Bakugou’s shirt to pull him into a kiss. Kirishima could feel Bakugou’s brain reset as his entire body tensed up, then relaxed. He didn’t kiss back, but his lips parted in surprise, allowing Kirishima to easily swipe his tongue across his teeth. For the first time in an hour, the popping and cracking of nitroglycerin silenced.

Gotcha.

Kirishima bent his knees and grabbed Bakugou’s arm. He flipped Bakugou over his shoulder before he even had a chance to struggle. Bakugou hit the mat hard, and Kirishima could hear the breath punch out of his lungs. He felt a little bad, but not enough to stop. He hardened one of his hands and held it to Bakugou’s throat, while using his knees to keep Bakugou’s arms down and useless. He was pinned.

For a moment, they just sat there, neither budging. The only sound was their heavy breaths, heaving from the workout. Now that they were still, Kirishima realized he was drenched in sweat and that it wouldn’t have been hard from Bakugou to slip out of his hold. He didn’t though. He merely stared at Kirishima. Kirishima stared back, noting how his boyfriend’s pupils dilated, the way he nervously swallowed and licked his lips.

Oh.

That was something Kirishima needed to file away for later.

But for now...

He sighed.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

23. …in relief.

Kirishima had taken all the necessary precautions. He had taken Bakugou to a quiet alcove of the dorms (far away from Midoriya), made sure he had extra spicy noodles at lunch, and waited for a day they’d destroyed the competition in a partner exercise. This was the best chance he had to get a yes.

That, of course, didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous.

He had been quiet for too long. Bakugou was already getting fed up with waiting. Angry red eyes drilled into his chest.

“What did you want Shitty Hair?”

And Kirishima just said it.

“Wouldyouliketogoonadatewithme?” He blurted, words tripping over themselves to get out of him mouth. He closed his eyes, and prepared to harden. It wasn’t the most manly course of action, but he really didn’t want to see it if Bakugou was pissed at him. Or worse, what if he was disgusted–

“Fucking finally,” Bakugou grunted, and Kirishima’s eyes snapped open. “I thought you were never going to ask.”

Kirishima doesn’t really know what happened next. He just felt so light and happy, like nothing could go wrong, and suddenly he had his arms wrapped around Bakugou and was pressing a kiss to his cheek. Bakugou stiffened, and for a terrible moment, Kirishima was convinced he destroyed everything. Bakugou glared at him.

“Do that again.”

Kirishima smiled, and did.

Again and again and again.

I picked Tsuchako!

27. …as a suggestion.

“Tsu, I don’t know what to do!” Uraraka whined into one of the many lilypad pillows. She knew she was whining, and she couldn’t say she was proud of it. But she really was at a loss. “Deku is so determined and focused on being a hero... My feelings don’t really have a place in that future. But I keep thinking about him!” She rolled over onto her back. 

Tsu was nice enough to let her come in and rant as often as she liked. Usually, Uraraka figured out her own problem pretty quick, and then the two of them would talk about their days, or she’d take her time braiding Tsu’s hair. It had become something of a tradition, one Uraraka treasured, perhaps more than she ought to. 

But that wasn’t happening tonight. An answer couldn’t seem to come to her. Her brain wouldn’t stop running in circles around itself. She sat up and turned to her friend. “What do you think?” 

Tsu took a moment and let out a short hum before turning to Uraraka with a determined expression. She placed a finger to her cheek as she spoke.

“Well, ribbit,” she began, “You seem to see only two options: telling Midoriya or being a hero. There are other choices, too.” Tsu leaned forward and pressed her lips to Uraraka’s cheek, quick as a hummingbird wing. “That is also an option, ribbit.”

Suddenly, every instance of Tsu taking her hand while they were out shopping and all the times she had called her cute meant so much more.

It was something Uraraka knew she could get used to.

But for now, she clapped her hands over her face and squealed, not bothering to keep herself from floating across the room.