#firstpaced

” okay we gotta take a break, dude. i swear my brain is completely fried right now. “   he groans, head thunking as he drops down onto the table. ow... kirishima lifts it so to rest his chin against the wood of bakugou’s desk and to peer up at his bro. 

                                               bakugou speaks with little compassion, little care. he speaks, though. he certainly speaks. “ look at all those chickens. ” .  .  .  yes. there are many. truly, shōto is captivated. he stares out with some vague sense of wonder, the light from the sun reflecting on his face & brightening his eyes as it illuminates his complexion. he watches as the chickens scuttle around, their feets’ rhythm moving out of time with one another’s, like they’re trying to dance but they just can’t get it right. they’re trying hard & they’re almost admirable for it. he still gazes upon them, their feathers flopping & rustling in the wind… he wonders what it’s like to have wings & to have them clipped.never will they be able to fly. perhaps he, too, is just like them. 

                                                                         ❛    they’re trying to fly.   ❜  

AND  SO  THIS  IS  IT,    the  tale  of  how  brave  men  die   :   wed  to  this  unsought prophecy  of  being  the  chosen  one.    and  so  heavy  is  the  head  that  wears  that  crown,   visibly  flipping  several  vibrant  shades  of  red  the  longer  he  waits  for  katsuki’s  full  weight  to  settle  against  him    —    and  once  it  does?    once  they’re  left  still,   suddenly  hyper  -  aware  of  how  uneven  each  breath  falls,   rosy  flush  spreading  heavy  over  a  freckled  nose?    it’s  like  the  best  kind  of  torture.    

——–    does  he  say  something?    no,   god,   no.    shut  down  that  protocol  for  an  uncomfortable  joke  fast  lest  you  disrupt  him   ;   all  natural  urges  to  ruin  the  moment  are  forcibly  suppressed  in  the  small  action  of  shifting  himself  against  the  other,   reciprocating  the  touch  as  lightly  (   and  carefully  )   as  possible.

legs  spread  slowly,   knees  knock  together.    maybe  a  little  of  his  elbow  spills  onto  katsuki’s  lap.    it’s  all  casual,   a  tentative  dip  in  the  water  before  the  grand  finale   :   bare  courage  mustered  over  what  feels  like  years  to  ever  -  so  -  softly  lean  his  head  right  back  against  the  other’s,   cautious  but  not  unwilling.    

it’s  fine.    it’s  homey.    it’s  warm,   that  fleece  bed  of  ashen  tufts,   pressed  to  the  soft  of  his  cheek  as  breathing  rolls  in  gentle  waves  over  katsuki’s  head.

@firstpaced​

SURPRISE is what hits initially, but it’s quickly overcome with a feeling of ENDEARMENT. but that’s a natural thing to feel when your bro is nearby, isn’t it? yeah, duh. kirishima adjusts his position to a more comfortable one ( but careful not to jostle the blonde too much, lest he annoy him away ) before settling his hand on bakugou’s hair. it’s soft despite it’s spiky appearance. it makes him laugh a little. kind of like the king of explodokills himself.

maybe a bit of a BRAVE move, but his hair is just so fluffy. calloused fingers act gently as they run slowly through pale blonde strands. he knows people see his friend as a TICKING TIME BOMB and while he could very well be one, what does kirishima have to worry about when he can handle any ( most ) explosions that are thrown his way?

and he’d make it — —- !     prove those who attempted to kick him off his feet wrong, and earn the name of ultra plus’ strong man ; an act cherished, and he’d look to himself with glee as he took one final glance over in the mirror.     until ... 

this is a bad idea .  a horrible idea .  there is  nothing  about this situation that spells out anything  good  ,  particularly when he already knows how it will  end .  he’ll  fart  ,  like that’s the funniest fuckin’ thing in the world and that’ll be  that .  some stupid  ,  shitty  ,  childish little prank  that only a  toddler  would feel compelled to take part in  ——

❛  the fuck for ?  ❜

(  aaaand he’s tugging on his finger )

   there’s a wide grin on his face, amusement found in the upcoming prank, and young hero in the making could hardly contain his excitement ( between high pitched giggles sneaking past his lips, and his grin, this much wasn’t exactly a secret ... ).  said excitement is short lived, however ... izuku’s grin quickly fading, and he could assume that his self growth and adaption to his quirk were progressing far more than he would have thought  — —  

—- and this much is evident from his now missing finger ; that finger now in katsuki’s grip.   

                    ❝   . . .   ❞     silent irritation boils in crimson inferno -- pink lips are pursed, eyelids pressed tightly in some futile attempt to maintain her composure. breathe . . . she thinks. ‘ count to ten ’ she recalls the soothing voice of nomah -- pray tell, it does not ease her of the peril that folds her fingers into her palms with tension, nor the tightness of her jaw. some biting remark snaps from her tongue like a venomous snake lashing toward its prey.

                                               ❝  would you not silence yourself for one moment ?!